


Truly, Softly, Darkly, Deeply

by goldenwatcher



Series: What Went Wrong [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Both Demons AU, F/M, Genderfluid Aziraphale (Good Omens), Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, M/M, Mind Control, blood consumption, death of a child, flesh eating (non-sexualized), forced gender change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:13:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28014498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenwatcher/pseuds/goldenwatcher
Summary: Lucifer introduced Aziraphale and Crowley back at Eden, before the rebellion. That is why Crowley believes he Fell, for putting doubts and questions into Ezra's mind, his fellow demon.  The two dance around each other slowly throughout history in a dangerous spiral of longing and building trust.  They are afraid of Hell, afraid of each other, and most of all, afraid of themselves.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens)
Series: What Went Wrong [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546552
Comments: 14
Kudos: 50





	1. Into the Sulfur

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all. This story is rather brutal. Please let me know if you see something that I have not tagged that needs to be. Also, please let me know if you would like specific chapter warnings. Otherwise, I intend to leave things as is.
> 
> Note that Ezra is the name that Aziraphale chose for himself as a demon. Also, Aziraphale and Crowley's pronouns always reflect the presentation they are currently in.

**_3107 BCE_ **

_**Mesopotamia** _

Ezra strode along the edge of the desert, the warm sands cooling beneath her feet as she approached the encampment. The tribe was having a celebration that evening, which required the timing of her assignment to be precise. Ezra was to kill the chieftain, but his wife had to be witnessed at the celebration when it happened so that no one suspected her. Ezra didn't know what the man had sold his soul for or if he was simply a horrid human, nor did she honestly care.

Sticking to the darkness at the edge of the firelight, hooded in black to hide her paleness, Ezra circled the gathering. She had to make sure the wife was therebefore hunting down the chieftain. Ezra spotted the blonde woman seated with food, smiling hotly at, to the demon's surprise, Crawly. The serpent smiled back at her, picking at his dish with long fingers then lapping at the juices.

Ezra hadn't expected the serpent demon, but she probably should have. He was permanently assigned to Earth as a tempter, just as she was the only permanent reaper. It was not uncommon for her to follow in his wake. Satisfied that the wife was suitably witnessed, Ezra turned and headed to the right home. She didn't know precisely why Crawly was there, but she suspected it was to corrupt the wife after her husband's death. It didn't appear that it would be challenging, judging by how the human's eyes devoured the ginger. Still chewing it over, she walked into the chieftain's hut, sweeping her scarf off and looking around.

The male was older than his wife, his hair silvering, but was still tall and strong. He was standing in the main room, looking surprised to be interrupted by a stranger.

"Girl, you had better leave this place," he growled in warning, his hand hovering over his dagger.

Ezra walked confidently toward him, looking him in the eye. He fell quickly to the enthralling power in her blue-fire gaze, and she swept his legs out from under him, his large body crashing to the floor. She straddled his chest, bringing her hands up to his throat. She was sure no one would ever believe that his tiny wife could have strangled him.

At first, Ezra only squeezed hard enough to cut off his air. Once his skin started bruising, she sharply tightened her grip, crushing the tubes underneath, feeling them crack and collapse. He gaped up at her like a dying fish, unable to breathe or fight back. Ezra watched long enough for him to stop moving, then slipped away, heading back out into the darkness. She knew the psychopomp would be there soon to collect the soul.

Just to be thorough, she swung back around to check and see if the wife was still among the revelers. She didn't see either the female or Crawly. She shrugged and turned to leave but heard a rustling behind a cart.

Lurking in the shadows and outer edges of civilization as she did, Ezra had come across a fair number of mating humans. She usually ignored them, but she wanted to know if it was the wife in this instance. If it was, there might be some suspicion turned onto her. She made a broad loop around the cart, and sure enough, the blonde female was straddling someone, hips swaying against the person beneath her. She didn’t know why, but Ezra was shocked to see that Crawly was the male lying under her. He was utterly unclothed, so much pale skin tantalizing in the moonlight. The human watched him with dark, covetous eyes, nails scratching possessively over his chest. Crawly let her do as she liked with a teasing grin, undulating smoothlyagainst her.

Crawly’s hand slipped under her skirts, and the woman moaned deeply, letting her head fall back and eyes close. Without hesitating in his actions, the smile wiped off the serpent’s face and his eyes started darting around.

Ezra clutched at her hood, making sure she was fully covered as she darted around the cart. Crawly must have sensed another demon’s presence. Ezra had been so startled; she hadn’t meant to watch. Surely he knew the details of the plan and had expected Ezra to be around. But then, did Crawly know what she had witnessed? She didn’t think he would be able to sense her location that precisely, but she didn’t know.

Ignoring the strange warmth in her belly, Ezra made her way off toward the marshes she hid so easily in. She didn't know why she was surprised. Humans certainly enjoyed their mating, so it couldn't be hard to tempt them with it. She'd certainly come across it enough with Asmodeus' demons, had almost been one of them herself. It was just that, for some reason, she hadn't considered Crawly to take part in such a thing. Of course he must have, obviously did, but it left her troubled. Ezra usually remembered him as the inquisitive and imaginative virtue that Lucifer had introduced her to in Heaven. Honestly, she hadn't really thought about it. Now that she had, she found the mission soured, unhappy with the results.

* * *

Crawly watched the muddied edges of the black robes disappear around the cart. He hadn’t seen who it was, but he didn’t need to. It was like Beelzebub and her eternal boils: there was always mud on Ezra’s outer robes and shoes, as if she’d been walking through a bog recently.

His cock twitched, a thrill racing through his gut as he watched the robe disappear into the darkness. It carried him through finishing the human off, his own orgasm skating through his body like pinpricks of fire. Sex was fine and all, and orgasms were certainly delightful, but it was a tool much like any other, and one he’d rather not use. His eyes sometimes made it difficult and the idea of being intimate with a human was not particularly thrilling. But catching Ezra catching him… even now, as he stood in the shadows of the crowd while the new widow wept unconvincingly for her husband, that thrill sparked over his nerves like lightening.

Crawly had thought plenty about Ezra in the time since they’d first met. Lucifer had coaxed Crawly to Eden to meet the principality shortly before the war, and the two lower angels had spent uncountable time discussing all of Crawly’s wild questions while Lucifer fed them tidbits of plentiful fruits. Then the war had come. Crawly had watched in the main room of Lucifer’s headquarters while Ezra had slowly bared his wings, and collapsed in grief at the marked black of his feathers. Crawly had known as sure as he’d known anything that Ezra would never have Fallen if the principality hadn’t humored his damned curiosity.

Before, Ezra had been flush and kind, generous and clever. Now, she was cold and still, wane and calculating. The gentle warrior was now a murderer for Hell, and even still, she listened to Crawly, chatted with him occasionally. He couldn’t say she was kind or friendly, but she treated him with respect and was a sight more welcoming of him than anyone else he’d witnessed.

Despite all of that, any attraction was impossible. Sure, some demons had been known to fuck their own kind, but he doubted Ezra was one of them. It was impossible to trust another demon with any sort of intimacy, and he didn’t see her making herself that vulnerable. Still, the thought of her over him like the human had been sent heat sizzling through his body. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it, rolling her over and wrapping himself around her hungrily as any snake would. He just wasn’t sure he’d survive it.

A shot of pale hair in the darkness had Crawly’s head snapping up, his heart suddenly leaping. Unfortunately, it was Hastur narrowing his eyes as him.

Crawly slinked his way over. “Well?” the duke demanded.

“They are rallying behind her even as we speak,” Crawly replied lazily. “She’ll be queen before he’s cold.” The serpent frowned. “Chieftainess? What’s a female tribal leader?”

“Meat,” Hastur growled. “Make sure she’s making the right choices.”

Crawly’s heart sank slightly. He was going to be stuck for the long-haul, wasn’t he? “Wouldn’t a lust demon be better for this?”

“No,” Hastur sneered. “Have fun.” The duke disappeared back into the darkness.

Crawly just about muttered under his breath when he heard movement behind him. He turned to see the chieftess walk up to him. “Come,” she said gently. “Let us get some rest and we will bury him come morning.”

“Won’t your people be suspicious of you in another man’s arms so quickly?” he asked her.

“Ours was not a happy marriage, and the people know we were nowhere near the hut to have hurt him. No one will think much of it.” She took his hand and pulled him along and, trapped in his assignment and mentally sighing, Crawly went along.

* * *

_**4004 BCE** _

_**Hell** _

Crawly gasped, jerking as he found himself standing on the shore of the sulfur lake, the taste of apples still fresh on his tongue. He had been in Eden, and the humans had been cast from God's presence. He'd gone up onto the Eastern wall to watch them and meet the new guardian. He had barely shifted forms before he'd had to dodge a flaming sword. Crawly had ended up falling from the wall and breaking his neck, but at least that was better than being smote or destroyed.

Ezra's replacement was a dick.

Hands landed on Crawly's shoulders. He jerked, still tense from the unexpected violence, but stilled under the broad, red grasp.

"Well, my serpent?" Satan asked, voice rumbling through Crawly’s atoms. "Did you make some trouble?"

Crawly forced his adrenaline-fueled tension down. It was still difficult to wrap his head around the world he'd been thrown into. He had never questioned his own Fall; had never doubted it was from planting the damning questions inside Ezra’s mind. He didn't dare ask forgiveness for that crime, as that also simply wasn't possible. All he wanted now was to survive his wretched fate. The best way to do that was to continue to please Lucifer, now known as Satan.

"Yes, my king," he replied with a sly smirk. "I convinced Eve to eat of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. She persuaded Adam, and God has banished them from Eden, casting them from Her presence."

Satan blinked, momentarily surprised, then favored him with a delighted grin. "God has cast out Her precious humans as She has done to us?"

"Yes, Lord."

Satan's laughter echoed through the cavern, drawing even more attention than his presence did. "Hear that, my people? Humanity has Fallen, case aside by God Herself."

There were whoops and cheers as the other demons gathered closer.

"Without God's protection, they can be corrupted," he continued. "We can lead them astray so that, when their pitiful existence ends, their souls will be ours."

Crawly let the excitement wash over him, content to not be noticed. He liked the protection of Satan's favor, but he didn't want other demons to try to climb over him to steal it, nor did he really want Satan's attention. He didn't focus much on the celebration until Satan purred, "Ezra."

Everyone went silent, the crowd parting. The pale demon walked forward to kneel before their new Master. It was the first time Crawly had seen Ezra since they'd Fallen; he looked both the same and so horrifically different, wane and spectral. It was difficult to tell how Ezra felt under the attention while still avoiding looking into those burning blue eyes.

"Yes, my lord," he replied.

"Deserter." The word was like candy on Satan's tongue.

Several demons had been startled to find themselves on the opposite side of God during the war. Like Ezra, these deserters had refused to fight, instead turning themselves in. They had been cast out all the same, their wings as black as the rebels’, then tortured by Hell for their lack of loyalty. Ezra was the last remaining deserter.

The blond did not try to deny it. "Yes, my lord," he agreed.

"Look at me."

Ezra seemed to hesitate but then looked up at Satan. Not one demon made a sound, watching eagerly as the two made eye-contact. Crawly didn't know what he was expecting of this exchange except hoping that Ezra survived it.

Satan grasped Ezra's chin, holding him steady. "You kneel before me, call me Lord in the kingdom my followers have made for me, loyal still to God."

The crowd hissed and snarled. Crawly did nothing, half hoping Ezra proclaimed his loyalty to Satan, but the blond didn't reply.

"God abandoned us for her new toys," their king continued. "Even you. You, who once stood in Eden. You remember the paradise She made for Her favorites, do you not?"

"Yes," Ezra replied helplessly.

"And today, God's precious creatures have been brought low by one of us!" The roar echoed from every crevice of the cavern.

Satan turned Ezra's head to see Crawly, startling the serpent though he hid it well. He attempted to look casual and indifferent, watching silently.

"Crawly tempted the creatures of Eden," Satan growled in Ezra's ear. If he included Ezra as one of those creatures, only the three of them knew. "With one meeting, he gave them the forbidden knowledge of Good and Evil, as much as he gave it to you. And now," he turned, facing the crowd, "they have been cast out for us to claim!"

The crowd howled in triumph with him. Satan threw Ezra to the ground at Crawly's feet. All of this was a ton of attention Crawly did not want, and he struggled to smother his horror seeing Ezra subjugated before him.

"Crawly has shown humanity God's fickleness and taken the first steps to vindicate us. Thank him," Satan growled.

Ezra pulled himself up to his knees at Crawly's feet, eyes on the ground, expression blank. "Thank you, Crawly," he said obediently.

Satan moved up behind Crawly, one hand wrapping possessively around the back of his neck. "And what do you say, my serpent?"

"Thank you, my king," he answered carefully, still under the commanding grasp.

"Good." He released Crawly and turned, one wing swiping Ezra into the dirt. He left, and the hordes followed him, forgetting quickly about Crawly and Ezra.

Once they were alone, Crawly crouched down by Ezra. "You okay?" he asked. It was his first chance to see the former principality since the Fall. He was still beautiful, though now in a haunting, wane manner than when the flush of life and spark of God's grace lived inside him.

Ezra glanced at him though carefully avoiding his gaze. "You're missing your party."

"It's not really mine." Crawly studied him. He wanted to ask if he was forgiven for causing Ezra to Fall, but how could the answer possibly be yes? Demons were unforgivable, and certainly not by other demons. So he asked his second most pressing question: "Why did you desert?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

Perhaps it had not been wise to remind Ezra of why he Fell, but he still didn't get it, and he wanted to understand. "During the War. You were marked from the beginning."

"It wasn't on purpose, I assure you."

Crawly shrugged. "Sure, but it was the same for a lot of people."

Ezra seemed to study him for a moment. When he replied, it was with a softness that was too gentle for Hell. "Didn't you want to ask forgiveness?"

Crawly didn't even have to consider the question. "I would never have been forgiven, so why suffer the consequences of trying?"

"The point of trying is to show you care enough to want it."

"You're the last deserter, Ezra, and the most powerful. Someday, Satan will punish you for abandoning him, and you will give him your loyalty in the end." He hoped.

A surprisingly unpleasant smile slid over Ezra's lips. "Since you love questions so much, has it occurred to you to wonder how anyone could possibly have rebelled in any meaningful way against a Creator who is both omniscient and omnipotent?"

"You're saying She did this to us on purpose?" Crawly replied, surprised.

"It is our path in Her great plan."

"That isn't inspiring loyalty, Ezra. And I don't think you'll feel the same once Satan's done with you." He rose and started walking away, puzzling over Ezra's questions.

"Didn't you have a body?"

Crawly paused, looking back with the strange subject change. "What?"

Ezra waved at him vaguely. "Flesh, a meat suit, a body. You need a corporation to be on Earth."

The answer would not please the spectral demon, but Crawly wondered how he'd react to a bit of his own harsh truths. "Yes, well, turns out the new Eastern Guardian was a bit put out having to banish the humans. Managed to avoid getting skewered with a flaming sword only to get my neck broken being thrown off the wall. Need to see about a new one."

Ezra flinched at the mention of his previous assignment when he was an angel. Part of Crawly felt terrible, but only a little. Ezra had asked, after all.


	2. The Privilege of Earth

**_3500 BCE_ **

**_Mesopotamia_ **

A prostitute slid into the seat beside Crawly, smile was dark and sensual as she reached up to twirl one curling, red lock around her finger. She opened her mouth to speak, but her words shifted to an indignant squawk as a hand landed on her shoulder and pushed her away. Palusum sat down next to Crawly, his warning sneer possessive of the demon. It wasn't as if he was jealous; the human had just come back from the shadows with his own companion, who curled up against his other side. He wasn't even attracted to male forms, which Crawly thanked anyone that it was the one he happened to be in. He kept the information that he could switch things up to himself, uninterested in knowing what the human might do with the knowledge.

The reason for Palusum's possessiveness had nothing to do with sex. Crawly was a valuable trophy, a symbol of his prowess. The human was a warrior and had made a deal with perhaps the most incompetent demon to ever walk that he would owe his soul to Hell if he were the greatest warrior of their age. The deal had been struck, and Hell had come to collect. However, no one had specified that Palusum was the greatest only among humans. He'd sent every demon thus far back to Hell. Along the way, he'd come across Crawly, who was obviously not a reaper, come to cull the soul Hell was owed. With his serpent eyes and exotic red hair, Crawly was the perfect prize. Palusum had trapped him in a circle and beat him bloody, taking a small vial of his blood. This new deal was that Crawly would stay by his side, warn him of other demons, and in return, Palusum wouldn't discorporate him.

Ordinarily, discorporation wouldn't be a big deal. However, with Crawly's blood, Palusum would be able to summon him to a circle and then simply start all over. Eventually, Hell would get tired of sending him back, and Crawly would lose his assignment. He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't survive an eternity in Hell, and survival was the only thing that motivated him since the Fall. Really, what was left?

He ignored the humans' actions around him, his expression steady and impassive as a snake's, unmoved by Palusum taking his whore again next to him or the other five warriors in his company throwing things at him. Eventually, they all fell into a drunken sleep, and everything started again in the morning.

Crawly would survive this. Palusum was in his prime, but he only had so many years left before natural death. Crawly had already been on the Earth and watched the birth and death of untold numbers of humans; Palusum was no different.

Movement across the courtyard caught his attention and Crawly glanced up, knowing already he would find yet another demon. He was startled to see Ezra standing in the shadows of an alley, looking terribly small and uncomfortable. The wraith avoided the eyes of the humans around him, instead watching Crawly’s company. Their eyes met for the briefest moment, then both immediately looked away, neither wanting Crawly to fall into the enthrallment of Ezra's gaze.

It could not be possible that Hell sent Ezra to cull Palusum's soul. The former principality had been so gentle in Eden, but the powers he'd gained as a demon were vicious and cruel. He merely seemed uninterested in using them unless necessary.

Beside him, Palusum seemed to notice his tension. He narrowed his eyes at Crawly, who was staring off blankly. "What is it, creature? Another demon?"

Crawly looked at him, expression still carefully blank. He finally nodded, then looked over at Ezra. Either Palusum would swiftly discorporate Ezra, or Crawly could hunt him down later to find out what was going on.

Palusum made a noise and pointed out Ezra to his men. The wraith, aware that he'd been discovered, scowled briefly but then disappeared down the alley, the men giving chase. It was probably an hour before they returned, laughing amongst themselves about the pitiful demon. "That one is a coward," Palusum assured, reclaiming his seat. "Ran like a kitten, nowhere to be found. Even you put up a greater fight, snake."

Crawly arched one eyebrow at Palusum's comments but did not bother to correct him. Ezra was a soldier of God, made by Her hand to battle; Crawly was sure the only reason he had run was to avoid hurting anyone. He didn't know if Ezra could take Palusum in a fight, but it was hard to say with the blue balefire at his command.

When Palusum was slept, he would give Crawly a pallet in his room to sleep on but didn't bother to lock the serpent up. The blood would let him recall the demon no matter where he ran. Crawly slipped out and wandered out into the desert in the direction they had described until he found Ezra seated upon a large boulder. It was both wonderful and terrible to see him again. Crawly couldn't help but blame himself for Ezra's Fall, but a selfish part was glad that he could still be around the blond. Maybe he would have some means to help Crawly be free of Palusum. "So this is where you wandered off to."

Ezra jerked his head up, seeming startled by Crawly's appearance. "What do you want?"

Crawly's brows went up. Ha hated how much the apparent disdain hurt. "Touchy."

"Rather, considering I was chased from town by the humans you pointed me out to."

He snorted, looking away. "They weren't even close to catching you."

Ezra narrowed his eyes. "I presume Beelzebub doesn't know you're helping Palusum. Either that or they don't care if you get in the way."

"Probably the latter," Crawly admitted, "and I'm not exactly helping Palusum. He knows I'm a demon. If I point out others to him, he won't discorporate me."

"He's to be culled. You don't think a reaper will go through you?"

"No one has gotten close enough." Crawly looked him over, unable to stop the concern he felt. "I thought you believed our Fall was part of God's plan. Do you think She would banish you to make you a murderer?"

"I haven't changed my mind," Ezra snapped. "And I'm not a reaper."

"Sure looks like it from my end."

"So where is he then?" Ezra asked, looking around. "I presume you've led them to me."

"I'm here because I'm stupid," Crawly hissed in frustration, fighting hard to hide his pain. He should have known that demons didn't have friends; they couldn't trust each other. "I don't know why I bothered. Good luck." He started to storm off.

"Tempter of Eve? You're hardly stupid."

Crawly hesitated, shifting on his feet, unsure if he should turn back or not. He'd just decided to continue on when Ezra spoke again. "Why are you helping Palusum, Crawly?" he asked. "And don't give me that nonsense about discorporation. You know very well Hell would give you a new body."

Stiffly, Crawly turned back around. He wasn't sure this was a good idea. "He has my blood."

Ezra's eyes widened. "What? How?"

"He caught me, beat me, and gathered a vial of it for summoning."

Ezra set his elbows on his knees, frowning. It was evident that he hadn't known Crawly was there, which meant he wasn't supposed to be helping him. Hell didn't want him to save Crawly; they wanted him to murder Palusum. The results were the same, but the motivations very different, and they needed to know if he could kill without any hint of righteousness in the future.

Crawly took the chance while Ezra was thinking to study him. "Didn't expect you for this sort of thing," he admitted, voice a bit soft.

It was Ezra's turn to raise an eyebrow. "You mean the sort of thing where I do what I'm told or suffer the consequences?"

"What kind of consequences?"

"I either prove I am helpful to Beelzebub, or I am given to Asmodeus."

Crawly winced in sympathy. Asmodeus was the Archduke of the Deadly Sin of Lust. Ezra was attractive, but it was hard to see at first how the wane wraith demon would be useful to Asmodeus. Then again, Asmodeus' servants were the Ashmedai, succubi and incubi that fed off of others like Ezra could. Crawly didn't know if he'd want to spend the rest of eternity in the grasp of lust either. "Yeah, that would leave me motivated." He glanced off into the desert for a moment, considering his next step, then back again to the blond. "You can't get Palusum alone. If he follows you somewhere, his friends will go too. They're expecting you. Came to warn you."

Ezra nodded slowly, appearing almost surprised. "That's helpful. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet, spook," the serpent replied, heading back toward town. Crawly didn't know if Ezra would win this fight, but he wanted to be free. It left him motivated to help.

The next morning, Crawly was surprised to see Ezra in a female appearance, but people more readily ignored women. Before he could say anything, he felt Palusum stiffen beside him as he was enthralled by Ezra's power, and she lured him up and away from the group. His companions were not fools, however. Despite the differences in her appearance, Ezra was still rather unique and easily recognized. They grabbed Crawly by the arm and dragged him off after Palusum and the blond demon.

They were almost to her boulder when one of Palusum's men had had enough. He darted forward quickly and grabbed Ezra's arm, jerking her to a stop.

"Demon," the human hissed. "Release Palusum or suffer our wrath."

Ezra turned around, studying them all. There were six humans total, one of them dragging Crawly. "You might want to leave if you get the chance, Serpent," she warned him.

The human holding her jerked her around to face him, putting a dagger to her throat. "Release Palusum or I'll--"

Suddenly, a blue flame flared brightly, racing over her skin and to where the human held her. He screamed, lunging back as it touched him, but the fire was already on his fingertips and quickly ate over him. With another wave, Ezra commanded the fire to leap to Palusum, then fanned it out amongst the others, trying to avoid the ginger demon.

Crawly spent most of his time on the Earth, but there wasn't a demon in Hell who didn't know about Ezra's balefire. It was a cold, spectral flame that she could use to feed on other beings' life-forces. He didn't understand why she had such strange, dangerous powers or the side effects that came with them. All he knew was that it incapacitated other demons for centuries, and he didn't want to get hit by mistake. He shook off his shock faster than the humans and turned in a complicated twist, freeing himself from the grasp. Ezra ignited that last companion before he could reach out again for Crawly. Her eyes burned as she consumed them with the blue flames, a warm flush painting her cheeks. In the center of it all, her primary target remained still, eyes on her, burning silently through his enthrallment. One by one, the humans collapsed and died, leaving only the two of them.

Crawly had heard, but he'd never seen it in person. The humans' desiccated remains, squeezed of every drop of life, were rather horrifying to look at.

Then souls of the men released from their bodies, causing a strangled noise from Crawly. He watched in shock as they hovered in the air as wretched, moaning things with blue fire at the center of their beings, mere shadows of what souls should be. Then all six converged on Ezra, sighing and twining around her in adoration.

Ezra yelped, startled. She stared, turning and twisting as she tried to study the souls. They appeared as emaciated as the bodies, their eyes empty sockets and mouths gaping maws. They appeared like starving things, but they seemed to adore Ezra beyond anything reasonable.

Before either Crawly or Ezra could gather their wits, another voice croaked, "Well, now what am I supposed to do with those?"

A black demon stood off to the side, cocking her head as she watched the souls. Feathers stuck awkwardly from her hair and arms, and her fingers were tipped with talons. Her eyes appeared milky but she tracked the movement of the souls around Ezra. A leather bag hung from her shoulder.

"Who are you?" Crawly asked, rather aggressively.

Her eyes flicked to him, and she clacked her teeth in a warning. "Ravenna. I'm supposed to be collecting these souls. They ain't supposed to be doing that." She glanced at the desiccated remains, huffing. "Not even a proper nibble left."

"You're not going to take them?" Ezra asked with alarm. She was flinching away from the souls while trying to avoid looking directly at either Crawly or the newcomer.

Ravenna shuffled over to her, studying the wretched things. She pushed the sleeves of her robe up and reached out, snagging one with her talons. It groaned in protest, writhing, but Ravenna brightened. She carelessly stuffed it into her bag then went about plucking the rest away from Ezra.

"Not as troublesome as I expected," she croaked. She shuffled about, collecting all six with a sharp grin under her beakish nose. Then she leaned into Ezra, her milky eyes studying her face. "Leaves us some nibble next time, yeah?" With a full-body shudder, Ravenna spread her black wings and disappeared.

Finally, Ezra and Crawly were alone. He didn't say anything immediately, watching her as she eyed the desiccated human corpses.

"What. The fuck," Crawly finally breathed, not knowing what else to say.

Ezra's fingers twitched as she fought the urge to wring her hands. "I didn't expect that to happen," she admitted.

"Didn't expect it?"

"I've never killed a human before. I've never killed anyone." She sounded like she was desperately fighting how upset she was, nearly trembling, with horror painting her face. A part of him wanted to reach out, to try to extend that hand of friendship again. He wouldn't say he wasn't afraid of her: he was fucking terrified. But she looked miserable and small, arms wrapping around herself as she stared at the bodies.

"Should get out of here," Crawly commented, watching Ezra warily. Despite his desire, he just couldn't bring himself to be vulnerable enough to offer her comfort. He wasn't even sure he knew how anymore.

"Yes," she murmured, sounding numb. "I need to report in."

Crawly shrugged, burying his hands into his robes. "Yeah, I probably should too." He took the first step to slink off, and she trailed him absently into Hell.


	3. Into the Drowning Darkness

_**3004 BCE** _

_**Mesopotamia** _

Ezra watched the last of the animals as they were walked toward Noah's vessel, the ark. She frowned, considering all of the rumors she had heard. She wanted to doubt that God would drown everyone in the area, but a larger part of her wasn't terribly surprised. As loyal as she still was, as much as she believed this was all the Almighty's plan, she couldn't find it in herself to see Heaven as kinder than Hell. It did, however, make her wonder what she was supposed to do. She had not been recalled back to Hell yet so was unsure if they were ignoring the warnings.

A tug from behind her pulled her scarf off of her hair. She turned, a sharp retort on her tongue, and was surprised to see Crawly grinning at her.

"Hello, spook," he said as she pulled the scarf back over her white hair. He glanced around, then jutted his chin toward the ark. "What's this then?"

"You haven't heard?" she asked lightly, trying to keep her feelings out of her tone. "The Almighty is going to send a flood to drown everyone. Apparently, the animals are to insure the survival of the species."

"Everyone?" he said, aghast.

"I'm not really sure. My sources aren't always reliable, but I rather expect its local. Think of the logistics of all that water otherwise."

Crawly looked about wildly for a moment. "But there's kids. Kids didn't do anything wrong."

"Neither did all the animals not on the ark, Crawly," she replied calmly. She felt a drop land on her nose, then rain began to patter down lightly. "That's it for me," she continued, lowering her arms from where they were crossed at her chest. "I'm going to go check in, see if there is work elsewhere."

"Probably a good idea," he muttered, obviously still unhappy. With one last glance around, he followed Ezra through the crowd and out into the desert, then down Below. Ezra went immediately to report in to Beelzebub, Crawly keeping pace with her.

The prince certainly had assignments ready. They didn't even look at Crawly when they handed him a folder, their focus centered on Ezra.

"There's going to be a lot of souls topside that think the world is ending, and they will beg God for forgiveness, which we obviously can't allow. There will also be many who are ripe for suggestion. Flip as many as you can and cull any that are ours before they can change teams. No balefire, but no other rules. Free-for-all style."

Ezra looked shocked. "Flip them?"

"Pick off the easy ones. Don't get all artsy about it like Crawly does. Flip, kill, move on."

"When do I stop?"

Beelzebub's smile was nasty. "We're already preparing your new corporation."

Ezra just stared at the floor for a long moment. She had to wade out into a cataclysmic flood to slaughter the humans and possibly convince a few to change sides, and she did not like it. However, it was also a chance to prove that she could perform temptations. She steeled herself, then snagged a couple of daggers and headed back up, leaving her scarf behind. She didn’t look at the serpent as she left.

At first, it took some finesse to flip people. She could take a little bit of time, her suggestions awkward but growing better even as the rain fell. She had to follow those who were to be culled into a place where she could hide what she was doing, but when the waters began to gather, people slowly started to care less. The wild panic rose as quickly as the flood, and everything went to, well, Hell. Ezra wouldn't even pause, slicing the throats of people in the street, and convincing others with a sharp-toothed grin that no one would care what they did. She encouraged large sins with terrible consequences, and the moment the soul dipped, her daggers finished them.

Many people did, of course, beg God for forgiveness. Ezra pointed out that nothing they said would change anything. It wasn't exactly a lie; they would die no matter what side claimed their soul. They couldn't save their own lives, no matter what they did, and she drove that point home ruthlessly. Either they killed themselves in despair, and were therefore damned, or they attacked her in rage and still more despair, and wrath was also a sin.

She wasn't alone, of course. There were other demons and even angels doing their best to protect or damn the humans, with not enough time to fight each other.

Probably the only sin Ezra did not encourage was rape, mostly because she didn't really understand it. She could get her brain around lust, to an extent, with her ever-horrid hunger, but the physical nature of mating didn't really make sense to her, and sexual assault was even more confusing. Of course, she was always happy to 'rescue' a rape victim and encourage vengeance upon the attackers. Having to cut their throats after was almost a shame.

Finally, the waters reached Ezra's hips. Her robes were soaked and heavy, and her body ached from fighting the flood. She didn't think she had much more in her. She had no idea how many humans she had slaughtered, her black robes soaked as much with blood as rain. She stood still in the water, face raised to the sky, trying to decide what to do next. It seemed ridiculous to simply drown herself, but she was not expected back in a corporation. Perhaps she would find a rooftop and take a nap.

Shouting drew her attention. She looked down to see two men on a rooftop not far from her, arms out as they called to her, intending to help. The burly one had a black soul, definitely bound for Hell, but the other was teetering. She wondered why they were both trying to help her. The smaller male seemed like he genuinely wanted to help, but was also nervous. She could see in their minds that they had plans for her, and it could be her last stop. Making sure her daggers were tucked away, she began to struggle through the water, reaching out for them. When she got close enough, the burly male jumped down and grabbed her by her waist, offering her to his companion to pull her up.

Ezra panted on the roof, not having to pretend to be tired. She wasn't looking forward to a fight, but at least she didn't have to try hard. She only had to live long enough to murder them for whatever they were going to do to her.

The roof under them was surprisingly sturdy as she sank down. "Thank you," she panted.

The smaller man knelt on the roof beside her. He reached out and gently brushed her soggy, white hair from her face. She resisted the urge to look up at him, trying to guess what the plan was. She clutched at her soaked and torn dress, cringing a little.

There was a low, evil chuckle from the burly male behind her. "Nice catch," he said. She could feel him take a lock of her hair, running it between his fingers, and she pulled away, scrambling back.

"What are you doing?" she asked, but she didn't get very far before his hands engulfed her wrists. He pulled her down backwards, so that she was laid out on her back. She struggled, though she of course kept her true strength in check. Her robes tangled around her legs as she fought against the hold on her wrists. "Wait. Please, don't."

The smaller man was watching her as if startled by her appearance. Cautiously, he reached out and plucked at her robes until he could get a hold on the skirts, beginning to bare her legs.

Ezra realized with a start that she'd seen this sin many times. Somehow, she still hadn’t expected it. She'd had people ask her for her companionship before, both men and women, but she'd always refused, uninterested. She'd also interrupted several such attacks, though not necessarily on purpose. She was not fond of this form of brutality, but she also didn't go out of her way to stop the sin from occurring. It would surely work to blacken the smaller male's soul, and it couldn't be that hard, could it? All she would have to do was struggle gently.

Of course, the mechanics of what would happen had not been explained to her. She'd never had that particular training, as it hadn’t been necessary. Really, the humans were really the ones who needed to know what to do. She adjusted her body appropriately, hoping she had the right genitalia. The human finished pushing up her skirts, and she twisted and struggled, trying to pull her arms free. She was surprised by how very uncomfortable it was to have her body bared like this, even if she wasn't as unwilling of a participant as they thought.

The smaller male slowly ran his hands over her thighs as if he couldn't believe his luck, making her skin jump. "She's so cold," he finally said, looking up at his partner.

He smirked. "Don't worry. She'll be hot where it counts."

Ezra snarled and kicked out again, coming off of the roof in her struggle. The smaller male pushed his way in between her legs so that she couldn't make impact. He began to rush with his own robes, the burly male watching gleefully.

Ezra's discomfort simply grew as the minutes slipped past. She didn't like feeling the rain drops on her thighs and the delicate flesh between. She didn't like that his presence kept her legs wide open, making her feel vulnerable. He was staring down at her, at that new flesh like he wasn't sure what to do. If that was the case, she was going to be irritated.

"Do I touch her first or..."

"Whatever you want," the burly man growled. "Wanna put that bitch in her place? Stick it in. Want her wet for it? Use your fingers first."

That made zero sense to Ezra. She felt like a drowned rat; how could fingers possibly make her more wet? A small effort was keeping the rain from her eyes, though she also was careful not to meet their gazes.

"Let me go," she begged, trying to twist free. "Please. Please let me go."

The big man laughed darkly, squeezing her wrists until the bones ground against each other painfully. The smaller male put one hand on her lower belly, holding her hips down. His other hand slid over that delicate flesh and Ezra jerked perhaps harder than she had intended, surprised. It was very sensitive, and when he found a spot at the apex that he circled with his thumb, it sent hot shocks down her legs. It felt like pleasure, but also distressingly uncomfortable. Suddenly, she wasn't so sure of her plan.

He watched her face, something she really hated just then, fighting harder. He kept her hips down, hushing her, then slid his fingers lower. There he found a space and slid two of them inside.

Ezra's concentration broke as she yelped, her body stiffening as the rain began to fall in her eyes. She had not known there was a space or hole or whatever it was down there.The fingers dragged as they pumped in and out, the thumb continuing to caress her.

"Stop," she impulsively squeaked.

The bigger man laughed. "Look at her squirm! Looks like you got yourself a virgin."

The smaller man looked eager, watching where he was touching her. Ezra scrambled, struggling, trying to pull back, anything to try to distract the situation. She didn't know what to do. The male's soul was still on the brink. It needed to be more brutal and she didn't think she could do that. She didn’t like this strange, uncomfortable pleasure. With a snarl, Ezra raised one leg, more flexible than she'd been previously in the fight, and kicked the smaller male square in the chest, knocking him back and definitely removing his hands from her.

He looked stunned as he stared at her, then his expression blackened. "Fine, then," he growled. He moved back toward her, catching her ankles and forcing her legs apart. He pushed his pelvis up against her, hands moving to her thighs to help control her. Then he reached down in between them, fumbling with something. Something hard and fleshy touched her, then--

Ezra screamed in shock and pain, her body stiffening in surprise. Her legs tightened around his ribs hard enough to break them and he croaked, stumbling back. Ezra ripped her wrists away, heedless of how the thatch and wood beneath her shredded her skin. Her wings burst free from her back, sweeping out to send the little one off into the water, unable to save himself with his broken body. The burly man crouched back, eyes widening at the creature that was in front of him. Then he grinned wickedly and dove for her.

Ezra swiped at him with claws, no longer playing nice. She wanted him dead and she wanted it now. Water streamed into her eyes, making it hard to see, but she was also used to not watching her opponents. He managed to evade her claws and grappled for her wings, trying to get fistfuls of feathers. She easily held them out of the way and ducked, twisting to swipe his legs out from under him. Instead, he caught her ankle and she hit the roof, wings slapping painfully against the weakening material. He climbed on top of her, but she hit him in the throat, making him gag. She then shoved him off, following after and folding her wings away. Even as he choked, he again grabbed her and slammed her back down on her back. This time, the roofing gave way, and both tumbled into the waters below.

Falling inside the home was rife with danger. There was debris of all sorts, a pole gouging a trench into Ezra's thigh. It was also hard to move through the waist-high water in her skirts. He gained his feet first and back-handed her hard, setting her ears ringing. He grabbed her throat and shoved her back against the wall, eagerly fumbling at his clothes. Unfortunately for him, Ezra didn't have to breathe. She just gave him a cold look, meeting his eyes. The human was no match for her power and quickly succumbed, his hands falling away from her.

Instead, Ezra grabbed him by his throat. "Just breathe," she purred, then hooked his ankle and shoved him down into the water. He thrashed, of course. The struggle to fight against what was cutting off his air was his body's instinct, and not something she could or even wanted to cut off just then. She merely held him down, viciously satisfied to watch him struggle even as he breathed in the water. With a few short thrashes, he finally went still.

Ezra panted for a moment, staring down at him, then made her way to the window of the house where the smaller man had fallen. He was floating face down in the water, his soul having already departed. She wasn't sure if she'd succeeded, and just then, she wasn't sure she cared.

Ezra sank down to her knees, the water up to her throat. She hadn't made any adjustments during the fight, so very much of her in pain. She'd had worse, of course; this was nothing compared to Falling, but she couldn't help but want to claw at her flesh. She hadn’t expected to feel impaled. If she had known what would happen, would she have even realized how horrible it would be? She settled down to sitting, and the water was nearly to her nose. She laid her head against the wall, tipping her face out of it, and nearly laughed. How exactly was she supposed to end this corporation? She didn't have to breathe. Drowning wasn't really an option.

Honestly, Ezra didn't care. She sat there against the wall, letting the water rise and ignoring the world around her, letting her body bleed and the pain to ring over her nerves. It didn't take long for the water to reach her chin again. Rather than wait for it to continue to rise, Ezra tipped her head back down into it.

Then, for one strange moment, it seemed her body slid from her control. Instinct or something like it perked it's head, and she absolutely could not stop herself from breathing. It didn't cause the same choking as it did the humans, no survival instinct fighting back, but it burned. Her lungs screamed in pain, and she thrashed slightly in shock. The water was dark and murky and she was so tired. She blinked once, then twice, and didn't open her eyes a third.

Then she felt the heat. It didn't warm her: nothing did, but it was familiar. Ezra opened her eyes to see the lake of sulfur before her. She was in tattered black robes, but they were the kind of black that humans couldn't make. The streamers of the ends curled and wisped around her ankles. She was dry, and the absence of pain was what finally kicked in the shock. She stared at the blood-red sulfur, trying to decide what it was she was feeling. A part of her wanted to scream. More of her couldn't be bothered. She was so strangely tired.


	4. Scars That Won't Heal

_**3004 BCE** _

_**Hell** _

"There you are," a voice said, a hand gently catching her elbow. "I haven't been able to start my next assignment without you. You'll need to act quickly to cull the soul."

Ezra blinked but then numbly turned around to see Crawly standing there, looking like he'd just spent the time on holiday. She blinked at him, and he sighed and tugged her arm.

"Come on. Your new body is ready. Let's get going." Crawly guided her away, and Ezra went with him, happy to let someone else make the decisions for once while trying to parse out what she was feeling. The pain was gone, and she was certainly not complaining, but it made everything feel like a fever dream. Ezra didn't look up until they stopped and was surprised to see that they were in one of the outer tunnels, not another demon in shouting distance.

"How do you know of this place?" she asked, tone a bit bland as she looked around. Hands landed on her shoulders, holding her against the wall, and Ezra didn't think. She swiped out, forcing the hands off her, and she raised one hand with a ball of balefire at the ready.

"Wait!" Crawly cried out desperately, one hand raised to shield himself as he cringed into the opposite wall. "Ezra, wait! I'm not trying to hurt you."

She panted for a moment, her own terror clawing at her throat. "Then what are you trying to do?"

"Nothing! I just... you're..." He swallowed. "Will you put the fireball away?"

Ezra glanced at it then sighed, waving it away. She ran hands down her robes. "As you were saying?"

Crawly straightened, easing away from the wall hesitantly. "Well... the way I see it, you and I are kind of like partners, right?"

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "Partners? I think I work a bit more closely with Ravenna."

He paused as he considered that, but then shrugged. "Okay, maybe. But I mean, her part is guaranteed. You and I kind of depend on each other a bit, just to do our part of the job."

She considered his words, not really sure what he was getting at. "Possibly. What of it?"

"Well, we have each other's backs, right?"

Ezra smirked. "Are you saying you trust me, Crawly?"

She could feel his eyes on her. "To an extent, yes."

Frankly, she was shocked. It wasn't a good idea to put one's trust in another demon. Backstabbing was practically lesson one in Hell. "You really think that's a good idea?"

Crawly shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe? You do your job, and you don't do anything needless cruelties beyond that. I get you're a murderer, and that's not really ideal, but you gotta do what you gotta do, right?"

Ezra considered his words for a moment. She liked the idea; if there was anyone she wanted to trust, it was Crawly. Still, she'd had a rather horrible lesson not one hour ago about how poor her judgment could be. She looked down at the floor. "What is it you want, Crawly?" she asked, her exhaustion leaking into her voice.

"Honestly? I really am waiting for you, but your body isn't ready yet, so I thought I'd find out how everything went. But you're off, and I was going to ask you what happened."

Ezra's arms absently wrapped around herself. "You want to know what happened?" she asked, her tone soft and dangerous. "Why?"

Crawly was quiet for a moment. "Because it matters to me."

Ezra couldn't help but let out an ugly laugh. The sound ended somewhat pitifully. "I hate that I can't tell if you're lying," she bit out. "I can't see you, and you could be laughing at me with every word and I can't tell."

"You want me to prove I'm being honest?" he asked.

Ezra sneered. "I don't want you to do anything."

Crawly was quiet as he considered the situation. Then he reached for her, taking one hand into his. "You could destroy me like this, but I don't think you will."

Ezra nearly stared at him. He had to be insane. She could consume every last piece of him, leaving him trapped in a useless form. She was rather tempted to do so. It was his endless questions that had put the seeds of doubt into her mind. The frustrating part was, she remembered being delighted by his hunger to know the world. His curiosity had been incredible. She still couldn't bring herself to be bitter.

Ezra might be weak and a fool, but it didn't mean she could trust him, even if she wanted to. However, she could use him for a question.

"Do you recall the tribe whose matriarch you seduced while I killed her husband?" she asked.

"At the celebration, 'bout a century ago? I remember."

"I saw you with her, after I finished with him. You mated with her."

Crawly made a face. "I'm pretty sure 'mating' implies breeding, and I certainly did not do that. But sex? Yeah. What about it?"

Ezra nearly chickened out, but she kept the fear to herself. "I've always wondered why. You both appeared to enjoy it, but it never sounded like such a pleasant thing."

"Really? We are in the middle of a trust exercise in Hell, and you want to know about the birds and the bees?"

"The what?"

Crawly sighed and nearly pulled his hand away, but she held tight to him, wanting to believe his words. He leaned against the wall beside her and shrugged. "It's a technique, is all. The act is meant to feel good, very good, but it can be horrible if done wrong. Humans are a bit obsessed with it. It also is rather vulnerable, so some humans build emotional attachments to the people they fuck. It's not my favorite thing; it's messy, and you are as vulnerable as they are, but it's a useful tool sometimes."

"Do it wrong?" she asked, trying to make her voice sound light.

Crawly's hand twitched in hers, then tightened slightly. "There are two ways that you can use sex to corrupt a human. You can seduce them like I did. Or you can play the victim. If the human is enough of a disgusting slime to force themself on a victim, then they’ve usually already got their ticket punched on our side. Still, some use it for borderline cases, like the ones you were after just now."

Ezra ripped her hand away, backing into the wall. She hadn't meant to and nearly cursed herself under her breath. She pretty much confirmed that Crawly's suspicion was correct.

"Hey," he said softly,turning toward her. "You haven't done it the right way, have you? Did you know what you were trying to pull?"

"Don't treat me like an idiot, Crawly," Ezra snapped. She wanted to leave but had no idea where to run to.

"I'm not. You're a better soul than most; I still think She’s crazy for marking you. If you tried the victim angle and weren't prepared for what they wanted, or what it was, it can screw with you." Crawly seemed to hesitate for a second, uncomfortable. "Well, I'd like to help if you want. Somehow. Something."

She stared at him. He was looking down, so she could safely study his face, and he looked stupidly uncomfortable. She wanted to trust him, and what he'd said about her being good made her feel just the tiniest bit warm. A demon shouldn't like that, but she secretly did, even as it hurt that she was too afraid. Finally, she said, "I'll keep that in mind. I'm going to check on my body." And she walked away. She tried to ignore the way it felt like her heart was breaking

* * *

_**33 CE** _

_**Golgotha** _

Time passed slowly for Ezra. Existence was one murder after another. She took to drowning her victims, remembering the last moments of peace in the water before she woke up in Hell. Besides, the puzzle of arranging a drowning often made the kills at least a little entertaining, giving her something to focus on.

She felt wane, like a ghost that haunted Crawly's shadow. The serpent was everywhere, corrupting the movers and shakers of the world. She often drifted in his wake, removing the people Hell wanted or feared would be easily saved. Killing the mortals one-by-one, ensuring their damnation, hurt something soft inside of her that she fought hard to hide. Crawly had seen her in a moment of weakness, and she was still waiting for him to use that knowledge to his own advantage. He hadn't yet, but she didn't doubt that it would come eventually.

It was strange to her, watching humans live their lives. They would eat and play, dance and touch, enjoying all of those fine, sensual things that life had to offer them. She sometimes wondered what that was like, but it was hard for her to imagine. She could no longer remember the taste of fruit from Eden, and Ezra wasn't really sure that she wanted to. Everything fine and sensual in the world had become cold and cutting, deathly sharp and dangerous to her.

So Ezra stayed distant. She remained wrapped up tightly in whatever passed for feminine attire where she was, ghostly and untouchable, shrouded in black. Eventually, the Christ child was born, and Ezra was brought in toward the end of his life. She had been given the job of arranging his death, not committing the act herself, which was rather unusual for her. She had her instructions and followed them to the letter. Speaking so gentle and kind to Judas had been a strange experience, but she'd become well-versed in hiding how she truly felt over the past four thousand years.

Ezra hadn't really been surprised when she'd happened to see Crawly as he came into town to tempt the Christ. He would be the one to do it. She stayed out of his way and did her job. Now, she watched as the tortured human was stretched out over the wooden beams, tied down so that he could be secured.

As the hammer began to ring out, Ezra felt a presence move up beside her. She didn't know why she was surprised to see Crawly, but she was. She didn't always see her as female, but it wasn't unusual either. Rather than acknowledge her, Ezra simply turned back, expression empty as a doll's as she watched.

"What are you doing here?" Ezra asked, watching the execution.

"Trying to figure out what's going on. You have anything to do with this?" Crawly asked, tone merely curious.

"Just following instructions," she replied. "The Romans had enough of his preaching."

"What did he do to make them hate him so much?"

"He said they should be kind to one another."

Crawly snorted. "Oh, yeah. That would do it." She nodded toward the angel in the corner. "You should be grateful they can't smite at a distance. They really look like they hate you."

Ezra nearly sighed. "Burn the messenger, that sort of thing. I'm supposed to make sure that he's killed and collected, then go encourage Judas to off himself without asking for forgiveness first. I suppose that might annoy an angel."

Crawly looked surprised. "He's going Below? His soul isn't at all marked."

"Yeah, I don't exactly understand it myself," Ezra replied. She looked over at Crawly. "Near as I can tell, the whole thing is some sort of sacrificial ritual. He is sent to Hell for three days in exchange for the sins to be removed from some other souls, then he is sent up to Heaven." She shrugged. "Not sure this is a good deal for anyone involved, except maybe the souls that aren't lifting a finger to get their sins wiped clean."

"Well, haven't you been busy?"

Ezra shrugged again. "I didn't have to do much if I'm honest."

"Yeah," Crawly agreed. "Humans don't really need much help coming up with stuff."

"Is that why you're so successful, Crawly?"

"Oh, it's Crowley now," the serpent said, flashing her a weak smile. "Needed a change. Crawly is just a bit ick."

For just a moment, Ezra's lips twitched in amusement. "And how long were you in Dagon's office arranging that?"

Crawly actually looked ill. "You don't want to know."


	5. The Last Deserter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: this chapter has intense descriptions of rape/non-con.

It wasn't very long after the death of Christ that Ezra was summoned back down to Hell. She assumed they had an assignment for her and was unconcerned until she arrived at Beelzebub's throne room. The prince looked serious and side-eyed Ezra. They got up and beckoned her along.

Ezra knew the layout of Hell better than possibly anyone else. She had spent enough time wandering the halls and empty passages, so she quickly recognized their path down toward the Ninth Circle. It was the central area of Hell, where the vast majority of the human souls were contained in the Pit and tortured. It was also where Satan's throne room was.

"My lord," she began tentatively.

"Silence," Beelzebub snapped. Ezra swallowed down her nerves and continued to follow, schooling her expression.

The doors she was led to were enormous, blackened iron with scenes of the Rebellion etched into them. They were pulled open by souls chained by collars to the massive things. Ezra refused to think too hard about it, keeping her focus on Beelzebub as the prince swept into the room. The cavern was vast, both intensely hot and frightfully cold. Demons of various levels stood in groups through the space and turned to watch Beelzebub and Ezra as they passed. There were souls to torture for entertainment, but not as many as Ezra might have expected. Torture was fun to some demons, but it was also work.

In the center of the enormous space was a large, black iron throne. Two smaller thrones framed it, and another six spread out, fanning from the center. All but one were filled with the Dark Council. The Great Dragon, Leviathan, was stretched out behind the thrones, large enough to curl around the entire display. Beelzebub took their seat at Satan's side as Ezra knelt before them, her eyes firmly on the floor.

"The demon Ezra," Beelzebub announced.

Ezra forced herself to find that numb, empty place inside of herself. It was apparent to her that this was finally her punishment for deserting during the war. She just wasn't sure what it was going to be.

"The reaper who works for you," Mephistopheles, Archduke of Pride, sneered as he traced his claws over the arm of his throne."The reapers are supposed to be mine."

To Ezra's ears, it sounded like an old argument. She hadn't known there had been a debate over her beyond Asmodeus' claim, but she didn't let herself think about it just then.

"And she can feed on others," Asmodeus replied, eyes hungry as he looked her over. "Should she not be mine?"

"We are not arguing over this again," Beelzebub snapped. "I got her first. She's mine."

"Which makes her mine," Satan purred, ending the argument. He cocked his head, studying her with black eyes. "Ezra. Your work during God's flood and the execution of the Christ creature was superbly done. I am pleased."

"Thank you, my king," she responded appropriately, her eyes firmly down.

"I knew you would be of benefit to me," he continued. "I personally groomed you to be amongst us, did I not?"

"Yes, my king," she answered, ignoring how her stomach tightened into knots. She was about to have a terrible day. "Thank you."

"If you are so thankful, then why did you desert us?" Satan asked, his voice hardening.

She'd known the comment had been a mistake the moment she said it. She wasn't really sure how to answer his question. The other deserters did not talk of their punishments, and no one spoke to her. In Hell, honesty was not always the best policy. Still, it was the best step to take until she knew better what he was aiming for.

"I didn't know of your rebellious desires, my king. I had never wanted to turn my back on Her."

Archduke Abaddon hissed in rage, her talons digging into her throne. There were words of disbelief and anger at Ezra's response, but Satan's voice was not one of them.

"Honesty," he murmured. "It is not something anyone was foolish enough to try." He cocked his head, considering the pale demon. "I never was sure if you would be on our side. Fortunately for me, She gave you to me, did She not?"

It was true. Ezra had not meant to turn against God, but their Lord obviously felt differently about it. "Yes, my king," she replied obediently.

"You have excelled at all of your tasks except one," Satan pointed out.

Ezra hesitated. Here was the trap where her punishment would be named, and she had no idea where she had gone wrong. "My king?"

"You allowed a human to get the drop on you, Ezra." Satan tutted. "Imagine, a demon being raped by a human."

Ezra's froze. To have it stated so baldly before the Dark Council and other demons chilled her beyond what her balefire could do. She could hear the snickers of the lesser demons behind her.

"Then again," he mused, "it was a temptation, a task you were not trained for. Since you have an aptitude for it, and we cannot have our demons being so weak, this will be corrected. Asmodeus."

"My king?" the Archduke of Lust purred.

"You have twelve hours."

Ezra felt numb enough that she almost didn't hear Abaddon's snarl. "You are being gifted training above your station, creature. You should thank your king."

She swallowed hard but lowered her head in a short bow. "Thank you, my king," she said, tone numb with shock. When Asmodeus passed, he snapped at her as if she were a dog. Obediently, Ezra rose and followed him.

Hell was split into nine circles, it was true, but the lines between those circles were not as straightforward as humans often thought. The Pit was in the Ninth Circle, but rather than holding the worst of the souls Hell had to offer, it was where most of them were dealt with. Very little ended up in the other circles. The Ninth Circle was partially ruled by Dagon, the Master of Torments, but it also housed Satan's throne room. The Home Office, which was not actually in Hell proper, held the administration, where souls were sorted, documents were signed in triplicate, and jobs passed out. That also was Dagon's realm as the Lord of the Files.

As a reaper, Ezra technically was supposed to work for Mephistopheles, Archduke of Pride, and Lord of the Second Circle, but she spent most of her time in the Eighth Circle, where Beelzebub ruled. Some demons were the lords' special servants, and they were housed in their assigned circle, like the Furies with Abaddon or the Grigori with Samyaza. Asmodeus ruled the Sixth Circle, where the succubi and incubi lived. It was not a long trip. Ezra had, at some point, visited all nine circles and was familiar with their oddities. The Sixth Circle was luscious, filled with foods and soft cloths, riches, and bare flesh. Yet everything in the circle was out of reach, caged behind glass or guarded by sharp claws. It was meant to tease the hungers, not to satisfy.

Ezra followed Asmodeus into the palace, past the Ashmedai on display. Outside, the demons lounged in gauzy clothes that barely hid their flesh, pouting with red lips and soft skin to tempt one closer. Inside, they moved with an efficiency that would make a merchant proud, the act gone and work to be done. Ezra's presence did garner a few glances, but they did not stop to wonder, and Asmodeus moved with just as much efficiency as his people. Soon, Ezra found herself in a room with a large bed draped in silks and furs. Asmodeus led her over and stood her before it as he examined her.

"We'll begin with human procreation. Are you knowledgeable about it?"

Ezra was startled by his precise tone. The purr never left, his voice always sweet as poison, but it was oddly matter-of-fact as if it really were a lesson. "No, my lord," she replied.

He nodded. "Very well. Humans generally have two genitalia, one that dispenses and one that receives. There can be combinations thereof in a single being, but for our purposes, we will focus on the two." With that, he twitched one shoulder and the decorative silks he wore fell away.

Asmodeus was tall and lean, pale skin that flushed just right and was soft over a defined body. His hair was a curtain of silky black and his eyes the color of fresh-spilled blood. Despite the way his body almost invited touch, he was as distant and aloof as his domain. Ezra's eyes barely flicked over him until her attention was caught by the genitalia he'd manifested between his legs.

"This is the dispensing unit, called a penis or cock or any other number of words." He reached down and took hold of a sack behind the protrusion. "Human seed with genetic material is stored here. During procreation, the penis becomes hard for penetration, and will eventually eject the seed."

Despite her horror and concern, Ezra found herself relaxing under the clinical nature of the lesson. Which was why she jumped when Asmodeus gestured and her clothing also fell off. He reached forward with one hand and placed it on her lower stomach, forcing her body to change. Ezra jerked away and lost her balance, falling onto the bed.

"This is the receptive one," he continued, standing over her, eyes predatory. "In the belly is a womb where eggs are stored. During procreation, the penis is inserted into a channel that leads to the womb. The seed is ejected, combines with an egg, and a baby human grows within the womb." With that, Asmodeus crawled onto the bed after her.

Ezra flailed, her fear leaping in her throat. She scrambled back, but Asmodeus followed her gracefully.

"Of course, humans are greedy creatures. It takes nine months before they whelp their spawn, plus it's miserable and dangerous, so God sweetened the deal." He caught Ezra's leg, forcing her still as he knelt above her. He reached over to a table with a small array of jars and vials and dipped a finger into a green one. The finger came back slick and shining. "You see, it takes some encouragement for the seed to be released," he said, sliding his fingers together to spread the slick. "And there are ways for that to benefit the receiver as well." He put his free hand firmly on one of her thighs and then ran his slick fingers through her folds, caressing that bundle of nerves at the apex.

Ezra jerked and tried to scramble back again, but he was stronger than her with a better angle. The human had touched her like that, and she wanted nothing to do with it. Of course, this was her punishment, her torture. She didn't know if she could bear it.

Asmodeus' fingers, however, moved smoothly around the nub, teasing it. It made fire hum down her thighs and coil between them.

"You can tell me to stop, you know," he murmured, even as she tried to pull her thigh free.

"Stop," she said immediately. She didn’t know if she was panting in pleasure or terror.

A sneer curled over his lips. "I won't stop, of course, but you can tell me to." His fingers slid down, ringing that receptive channel he'd mentioned.

Ezra kicked out, unable to stop herself. She instinctively reached out for the balefire, but nothing happpened.

The hand on her thigh grabbed her throat. "This bed is enchanted," Asmodeus purred, slowly sliding one finger into her. "Your natural powers are not needed here, little one."

Ezra actually whined, clutching at his wrist. The finger didn't hurt, which was an improvement. The hand on her throat was making it too difficult to breathe. "Please," she whispered helplessly.

"You want more? Of course, pet." He slid a second finger in with the first, and Ezra whimpered, trying to thrash, to move her hips away. She was afraid, but nothing that was happening actually hurt like she expected it to. Still, she couldn’t stop her heart from hammering.

She couldn't think. The movement inside her body rubbed against her walls, sending sparks flickering over her skin. She kept trying to find some means to shift away, to get any leverage, but he had her firmly pinned down. Even as she squirmed, this thumb drifted upward, a small caress causing a full-body jerked, and she whined loudly in protest.

Asmodeus watched her face with a cruel smirk. "Familiar with that, are you?" he murmured, his hand stroking and nudging, making heat pool in her pelvis and thighs even as fear gripped her throat.

Ezra's nails dug into his wrist. She growled, flashing sharp teeth, her terror of what was happening quickly driving her feral. But then, at the same time, the sparks caused by his fingers seemed to burn into that empty place that held her ravenous hunger. Something was building, something satisfying, and she struggled to know whether she was fighting to get away or straining for more.

When Ezra's hips seemed to start moving into his hand, seeking more, Asmodeus pulled away. Before she could stop herself, she growled again, struggling under his grasp.

"Be still, pet," he ordered, sliding up between her thighs. "Time for the point in our lesson." Before Ezra could process this, he grabbed one of her thighs and steadily pushed himself into her body.

Ezra cried out, back arching in shock. Panic and pleasure each gripped her, making her eyes roll back as she choked. It felt amazing, the hard flesh rubbing against her inside walls in ways that made her toes curl. Yet, through it all, she felt like she was drowning, choking, blind, and helpless to stop it. She clawed at his hand even as he began to pump into her, staring blindly up at the ceiling.

If anything, Asmodeus seemed delighted by the bleeding scratches she left behind. He leaned down, licking at the edge of her jaw. The tension changed, and she began to move with him against her will. Her mouth fell open, gaping as she struggled to breathe around such a pressure. Then, at once, some barrier broke, and that hot fire spilled through her body. Ezra moaned hungrily, legs wrapped around Asmodeus and moving against him how she wanted, starving for any heat she could get. Finally, she sank against the bed, shocked and numb, looking up at him blankly.

Asmodeus grinned and put a hand on her stomach. Ezra groans in pain as her body was forced to change. "Next, two dispensing forms."

Ezra scrambled to escape.


	6. Chapter 6

Crowley received an invitation to Satan's court. He had no idea why but one did not refuse such a thing. He made himself appear somewhat cleaned-up, fashion that might be appropriate for the court of Hell, and arrived precisely on time. He was immediately pulled aside to mingle with the lesser demons and offered food and drink. These demons were useless sycophants; he couldn't imagine why he'd been brought in to talk to them.

"So many demons," one of them simpered. "Too many here for the entertainment; not enough truly desiring to serve our Dark Lord."

"It's the final deserter," their companion replied. "All want to see that one suffer. She is far too confident, too sure of herself. She needs to be taken down a peg or a thousand."

"What was it like, Master Crowley?" one of the demons cooed to him. "To have the deserter on her knees, exulting her admiration for you, put there by Satan himself?"

Crowley took a large gulp of his drink. Ezra's torture. Why had Lucifer called him in for this? Was it because of then, when Crowley had tempted Eve with the forbidden fruit? Or was it before, when they had met time and again in Eden?

He was considering what to say when the enormous throne room doors opened, and Archduke Asmodeus was announced. He was the only member of the Dark Council not yet seated, so he must have been the master of Ezra's punishment.

All chatter ceased. The Lord of Lust entered confidently and, just behind him, was Ezra. She looked resplendent in red silks that wafted about her oh-so white person, her curling hair tucked up with gold and ruby pins. Asmodeus took his seat, and Ezra dropped to her knees before Satan. Crowley felt tense; he couldn't imagine being tortured by Asmodeus. The blank expression on her face might have been court-worthy but made something ill curl in the serpent's belly.

"Ezra," Satan purred.

"Yes, my king?" she responded promptly, eyes still down.

"Did you find your lesson educational?"

"Yes, my king. Thank you."

"Do you pledge your loyalty to me?"

"Yes, my king."

Satan cocked his head and sneered. "Prove it."

Crowley desperately hoped this wasn't what he was assuming. His hope was crushed when Ezra stood and crawled onto their Master's lap. The demons around him jeered as she did as commanded. It was all Crowley could do to hide how much he wanted to leave. Why had he been invited to this? Was he being rewarded? Punished? He honestly didn't know which was worse.

Once it was over, Satan pronounced her absolved and dismissed her. As she turned and walked across the throne room, one of the lesser demons sneered slightly. "Whore."

Ezra's expression never changed. One hand lashed to the side, hurling a blue ball of balefire with terrifying accuracy. The heckler screamed, the others scrambling back to avoid the fire. Ezra never paused. She walked out of the throne room, letting the fire burn itself out, and Satan let her, amused.

"Crowley!" Beelzebub barked.

He jerked in surprise at the summons, his attention trapped by the demon moaning as it burned in the cold fire. He collected himself and stepped before the Dark Council, kneeling. "Yes, my lord?"

"Enjoy the show?" Abaddon sneered, her eyes hungry as she watched him. Much of Crowley's work resulted in frustrated and angry humans, so the Lord of Wrath naturally found him fascinating.

"I am flattered by the invitation, Lord Abaddon," he replied carefully.

"Never mind that," Beelzebub cut in. "Find the Roman Emperor Caligula. Do what you do. We want him on our lists."

Crowley inclined his head. "Yes, my lord."

He was waved away. Before he turned, Crowley let his eyes flick to Lucifer. Those black eyes were focused on him with an interest that had flattered Crowley in Heaven. Here, it left him feeling terrified.

* * *

_**41 CE** _

_**Pontine Marsh** _

Crowley made his way to the surface and prepared to meet Emperor Caligula. First, he had a surprise for Ezra and felt that the sooner he gave it to her, the better. Still, he wanted to be ready to start his assignment once he talked to her.

Crowley carefully picked his way through the swampy area, at least partially familiar with Ezra's hidey-hole. He finally arrived at the old willow tree and looked up into its boughs. "Hullo, Ezra."

She was stone-still, curled up tight among the branches. She was still in the gown from Asmodeus, although she had obviously taken little to no care to avoid the mud like Crowley had. The brilliant color made her stand out in the gloom.

It wasn't long until she finally turned her head, revealing her blank expression. "Here to say 'I told you so?'" She didn't sound like she cared.

Crowley hadn't even considered it. "There are plenty of demons I would mock for getting their comeuppance: you're not one of them. You were also tortured by an Archduke, which I haven't been, and I plan to keep it that way. That level of suffering shouldn't be mocked."

She was still staring up at the sky, refusing to look at him. "There is a plan," she said, her voice cracking slightly. She almost seemed to be talking to herself. "We are still a part of it." She finally shook herself and turned to him. "If that's not why... what are those?" she asked, sounding startled as she finally spied his glasses.

Crowley grinned wide enough to flash fang. "Clever, yeah? Smokey quartz sliced thin and set in a frame. The idea is to prevent the sun from hurting your eyes, but the darker quartz means no one can see them, either." He plucked them off his face as she jumped down, handing them over.

Ezra studied their build carefully, then turned them and set the glasses on her face with a little guidance from him. Once she was wearing them correctly, Ezra looked up at Crowley and met his eyes. He braced himself for being enthralled, but it never happened. He could see the hint of the color of her eyes, the faint glow of the fire found there, but her power didn't enchant him, and he grinned again.

For a moment, Ezra looked elated, as if she might start singing hymns. But like the wind changing direction, the air went out of her sails, and she sank slightly. She pulled the glasses off of her face, turning them delicately in her hands, eyes on the wires.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice surprisingly calm.

Crowley blinked. "Come again?" he asked, unsure. He thought they had moved past that question earlier.

"For the quartz discs," she said, indicating the glasses. "What is it that you want for them?"

Crowley shrugged and leaned against one of the trees. "I just got them. I don't know about you, but I get questions if people notice my eyes. These are going to be super helpful."

"You don't need to prove their value to me," Ezra replied, sounding frustrated. "Just tell me what you want. I saw you in the throne room. Is that it?" She stepped closer, sliding her hands over his waist, under the folds of the toga.

He blanched and nearly crawled up the tree to get away. His body had a very different reaction. "Whoa, wait a moment. I think there's been a little misunderstanding." He pulled her hands away, then shuffled desperately through his clothes as she frowned, watching him. Then he pulled out the second pair of glasses, victorious as he slid them on his face.

Ezra glanced at them. "And?" she asked, confused.

"And we can both have a pair!" Crowley said as if it was obvious.

Ezra scowled at him, seemingly frustrated. She stepped forward into his space as he tried to melt into the tree and leaned in, looking into his eyes. "You had to have known I would hold these at a great value. Well done. Now tell me what you want for them so that we may move on from this."

"I'm trying to tell you: nothing!"

"You are telling me nothing!"

"No!" Crowley grasped her, cupping her jaw in both his hands so that he could force her to really look at him. "I don't want anything for them."

Ezra froze in his hands. Her face was still, but she'd long ago lost the ability to hide her emotions in her eyes. She looked startled and strangely vulnerable. "Nothing?" she asked, voice small. "You... you're gifting them to me?"

"Well, I certainly don't want you to take them by force." He released her, feeling a little not alright with touching her, considering the spectacle he'd witnessed just hours before. Crowley didn't want to give the wrong impression more than he'd apparently already had.

"Force?"

"I want you to not kill me for them," Crowley said with a shrug. "They are helpful to me but bloody useful to you."

It took a moment, but Crowley saw the moment Ezra understood what he was saying. her expression crumpled, eyes focused on the contraption in her hand. “Oh,” she practically whispered.

Crowley didn’t want to belabor it, not if it was going to put that heart-broken look on her face. “Anyway, he continued, slithering out from between the tree and her, then smoothing out his clothes, "I'm off to Rome to meet the emperor."

"Right," she said softly. "Expecting an imperial rollover?"

"Not any time soon, 's far as I know." He glanced at her. "Got an assignment?"

"Not at this time. Maybe I'll tag along? Just to the edge of the city?" She sounded curious, even hopeful.

Crowley shrugged. "Can come with me if you want. Be my wife or something. Give the accessories a try. Just don't steal my glory."

Ezra scoffed. "I can't imagine you would ever let me get away with such a thing. Besides, from what I hear, you are the master at tempting humans." 


	7. Fires from the Depths

_**64 CE** _

_**Rome** _

There had to be something about the opulence of the imperial throne that made humans lose their heads. Emperor Caligula had punched his ticket for Hell’s team long before the demonic duo had met him. It hadn’t helped his cause to try and torment Crowley to get his ‘wife,’ Ezra, to sleep with him. The orders for an arranged execution had come from Below the next day.

Claudius, Caligula's successor, was an alright-enough bloke. However, his wife, the Empress Valina Messalina, was quite the piece of work. After them, Nero wasn't such a bad emperor for the general population, but he was as much of a deviant as the rest of his dynasty. All of the political intrigue kept Ezra in Rome, and she, unfortunately, became somewhat notorious. She couldn't change back and forth from female to male because she had such a distinct appearance, thus too recognizable. She was forced to continue through Rome as the mysterious woman who had dined with Caligula on Crowley’s arm. She kept using Crowley as her husband, with or without his permission or presence. Mostly, she spent her time talking with people, spreading rumors and passing on tidbits of intelligence. The nobility learned that Ezra knew everything that was happening, and she used the power to influence the next round of executions. Behind her back, the people of Rome referred to her in whispers as "Domina." It was a term meaning mistress that had such a cruel connotation that it hadn't been used since the Republic fell apart. A domina presided over slaves and their punishments, the life and death of people in the palm of her hand

Through it all, Ezra rarely saw Crowley. Instead, assignments were passed along by Eric, a bizarre lesser demon that had an innumerable amount of copies. They all used the same name because no one in Hell could be bothered to tell the difference from one to another.

It was Eric that passed on the assignment requiring Ezra to personally assassinate the consul. Ezra was rarely told to get her hands dirty in Rome, arranging murders rather than performing them, which she found little problem with. Occasionally Hell insisted, and one evening she was giggling drunkenly in a courtyard with her human companion. She wasn't drunk, of course: Ezra maintained her abstinence from food and drink. However, the consul she was with was spectacularly inebriated. It was a tiny matter to pass him by the fountain, drunkenly trip, then hold him under even as she pretended to help. As she worked, she felt something charged in the air, something wrong. She heard shouting in the distance, then felt an angelic presence. Ezra threw herself away from the water and miracled herself dry before she felt the blessing take effect.

"Rats," a voice murmured mildly. Ezra turned to see an angel in the garb of one of the Praetorian Guard. She narrowed her eyes.

"Hardly sportsman-like," she groused, smoothing down her stola.

"One can hardly play fair against an enemy that won't."

"Rude."

There were a lot of people running and shouting. Ezra didn't like that something was happening, and she couldn't turn to look with the threat in front of her.

"Shall we take this elsewhere, then?" she asked.

"Oh, I think I like it here just fine," he replied, pulling his sword.

Ezra stared at him. "We can't fight here." They weren't supposed to fight in front of humans in case something was revealed. It happened anyway, on occasion, but it was strongly ddiscouraged.

"Haven't you heard?" he asked with a grin. "Rome is on fire. One would hardly care if a Praetorian Guard takes the chance to eliminate the evil Domina Ezra."

"You are terribly rude for an angel," she huffed, conjuring her own daggers. She had been created to fight, all of those eons ago, and she no longer had any qualms about killing. However, bringing daggers to a sword fight wasn't ideal.

Apparently, the small talk was concluded. The angel lunged for her, adept with his weapon. Fortunately, so was she, but she was also aware of the fountain of now holy water not far from her. As they fought, the light increased, the heat and smoke with it until a fire raged into the square with them. Ezra was not going to be discorporated by fire, a lovely side effect of her powers, but neither did the angel seem concerned. She didn't like where this was leading, so she summoned her balefire and threw it at him. Then she stared in astonishment as the angel put it out.

"That's cheating!" she cried, suddenly very worried for her existence. No one had ever done that before.

He grinned and lunged again.

Ezra wasn't going to beat him, at least not one-on-one. She couldn't use her eyes since he watched her form, and her balefire was apparently not going to help. Her best bet at that point was to run. Even as she tried to do so, he tripped her and grabbed her hair, slamming her head into the stone. It left Ezra stunned long enough to be dragged to the foot of the fountain. When she realized where she was, she fought like mad, scrambling to get away and willing him to burn already. The balefire flickered around her as she held him off, centimeters from the water.

Ezra grit her teeth, rage and fear searing through her as the world around them was consumed by flames. She looked up at him and snarled, "Burn, bless it!"

Suddenly, he screamed and jerked back, scrambling away as she did the same. He clutched his hands to his chest, his fingers blistered and seared and eyes wide. The fire that lovingly curled over Ezra's hands was not blue, but a deep red that smelled of brimstone: hellfire.

Ezra looked at the angel, and he began scrambling again, terrified. "Wait... please..."

"One can hardly play fair against an enemy that won't," Ezra mocked, then cast out the hellfire.

The angel screamed, but it didn't last long. Quickly, he was no more than ash.

"No!"

Ezra whipped around to see another angel staring in horror. She looked up at Ezra's sharp movement and whimpered, stumbling back. They stared at each other for a long moment, fury and fear and pain racing through Ezra, but the truth was that she hadn't wanted to destroy the first angel. He had forced her hand, but this one was just scared.

"Shoo," she finally said, flicking her fingers. The angel jerked in surprise but then turned and fled.

"Ezra," she heard behind her. She turned and saw Crowley looking around a bit unhappily. "We need to get out of here."

Ezra nodded, starting to feel overwhelmed by all of the fire. The city was falling apart, the humans panicking and trying to stop the destruction. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do, her last job completed and everything in disarray. A part of her wanted to help, but any goodwill she had soured. Attempted murder via holy water had that effect.

Crowley led her north, into the Hoiti Pompeiani pleasure garden. There were not as many people there, so they should be able to slip away into Hell unnoticed.

"Was it just me, or did you get the impression that Heaven just started a fire that will kill a ridiculous amount of Roman citizens?" Crowley asked, watching the bright glow in the distance.

Ezra didn't answer. The day had gone sideways in a spectacular manner, and she was still trying to wrap her head around it.

"That's the one!" a voice cried out. Both demons turned to see that same angel Ezra had let go pointing her out to the two archangels by her side. "That one summoned hellfire and destroyed Daniel!"

"You tattled to the archangels?" Crowley said in disgust. "No good deed and all that."

"What good deed?" the angel demanded. "Daniel is destroyed!"

"You're not, are you?"

The archangels were Michael and Gabriel. It had never occurred to Ezra that she might have a run-in with one of them. She was not a weak demon, but she was nothing compared to them and didn't know what to do. She and Crowley wouldn't survive running away.

Gabriel glanced between Ezra and Crowley. "Is it the white one or the red one?" he asked.

Michael pulled her sword. "Does it matter?"

"Put that away," Beelzebub snapped. They stepped out of the darkness with Dukes Hastur and Ligur at their back. Off to the side was Eric, the lesser messenger demon, wringing his hands nervously.

Michael scowled. "I don't take orders from you."

"Alright, then. Keep it out and look like a prat." Beelzebub shrugged.

Ever the spokesman, Gabriel stepped forward. "Beelzebub. We were just maintaining the balance set by the Great Plan. Your demon destroyed an angel, so we have to eliminate her."

"You just want to kill her because she can summon hellfire."

"No, no. It's all about the balance. Promise." He smiled brightly.

"Fine." Beelzebub pushed Eric out in front of the angels. "You can have that one."

Eric meeped in terror as everyone looked at each other. The archangels were displeased, Gabriel obviously considering how to get himself out of the corner he was in.

"Unfortunately, there is also a crime to consider. She has to be punished for destroying an angel."

Beelzebub sneered. "I don't have to do anything with my demon."

"If you won't let us deal with her now, then we'll hunt her down later," Michael interrupted.

"At which point, she can do whatever she pleases to defend herself." Beelzebub was starting to sound bored. "Every angel in Heaven can make holy water. Having one demon that can summon hellfire hardly sounds like a balance, so either get lost, or I'll have Ezra show us what she can do."

The archangels and demon prince stared at each other for a long moment. Then Michael grumbled, but the three disappeared.

Eric fled, no longer interested in sticking around. Beelzebub looked at Ezra. "You just can't help but draw attention to yourself, can you?"

"I didn't do it on purpose," Ezra protested. She didn't want to be dead, but she really didn't like where this was going. She hadn't realized the ability to summon hellfire was nonexistent.

"Come along. The Council wants to talk to you." They led the entire group down Below, Hastur and Ligur quickly peeling off from them. When Crowley tried to do the same, Beelzebub shot him a scowl. He fell back into place beside Ezra, the two exchanging a glance. She didn't really blame Crowley for wanting to escape and really hoped he wouldn't blame her for not being able to. Ezra wanted to trust Crowley and he felt like the closest thing she had to an ally, and that felt good. She wasn't ready to alienate him entirely.

The Dark Council was seated in the throne room, abuzz with rumors and whispers that spread fast. Knowledge was power and it meant demons gossiped like old maids. Beelzebub led them before the Council, and they both knelt, waiting.

"Story is Ezra destroyed an angel by summoning hellfire," Beelzebub stated as they moved to claim their throne.

"You witnessed this, Crowley?" Abaddon asked, grinning with grotesque glee.

"Yes, my lord. I knew Ezra was working close by, so when the fire broke out, I went to find her so we could escape. She was fighting an angel dressed as a Praetorian Guard, and he was trying to dunk her into a fountain. Nearly did too, but then her eyes went red like supernovas, and that blue fire turned yellow and red."

"Hellfire?" Leviathan, the Great Dragon, interrupted.

"Yes, Lord. He burned to a pile of ash."

"Let's see it then," they said, turning their poisonous green eyes on the paler demon.

Ezra looked momentarily alarmed, but she raised one hand. The balefire was easy to control, but then she focused on the remembered feeling of the hellfire. It was a slow process, requiring far more effort than it did when she was panicking. Eventually, her eyes blazed with red fire, and the hellfire danced around her fingertips.

"Not exactly inspiring," Mephistopheles sneered.

"And you can do better?" Asmodeus inquired lightly.

Leviathan's glee was a terrifying thing. "We could use it for hunting down angels."

"No," Satan immediately refuted, silencing the Archdukes. "We cannot upset the Great Plan. If we started hunting angels, they wouldn't turn on us, and it would start Armageddon two millennia early."

Leviathan growled in dissatisfaction but offered no further complaint. Satan's black eyes focused on Ezra.

"Leave us," he commanded the others. The lesser demons scattered, and Crowley immediately rose but stilled when Beelzebub shot him a glare. They rose from their own throne and gestured for the Serpent to follow them. The Archdukes, taking their cue from the prince, also left, some less pleased than others.

Through it all, Ezra remained still, gooseflesh prickling over her skin. She was always cold, but she felt particularly chilled just then. She kept her eyes down, trying not to despair as the last of the court closed the black iron doors behind themselves. She didn't look up, eyes focused intently on the floor, terror coating her tongue. She heard him rise and move over to her until his feet were in her line of sight.

"Part of what makes the summoning so difficult is your connection to Hell," he murmured. He took hold of Ezra and pulled her to standing. A flex of his hands forced her wings to appear, and he circled, carding his claws delicately through the feathers. "I can increase your connection so that the hellfire comes more readily at your call. Would you like that?"

"If it pleases you, my king," Ezra replied automatically. Truthfully, it sounded helpful, but she was wary. She was still waiting for whatever required them to be alone.

Satan found a loose covert feather and plucked it gently, circling around to drag it over Ezra's collarbones. "You've yet to be titled in Hell. Most of them are representative of power or cruelty. This will be a little different."

Satan grasped the back of her neck and started walking her toward the back of the cavernous throne room. A few discrete doors in the wall were impossible to see from the other parts of the space due to the darkness and gloom. He guided her into one where the only light came from the burning sulfur pool in it. He dropped the black feather into the pool, watching it burst into flames. Then he grabbed Ezra's arm and stepped into the pool, dragging her with him.

Ezra couldn't tell if the sulfur hurt Satan, but it burned at her. Interestingly, it wasn't as painful as she remembered. She was so numbingly cold all the time, and nothing had been able to warm her. The heat was agonizing, but only because the nerves weren't used to it. It didn't burn her flesh, but the nerves awoke to the stabbing pain and protested all the same.

Satan turned to face her. The sulfur was to Ezra's chest, but only his waist. "We will open your connection to Hell, make it greater, and give you a title to help sustain it." He grabbed the front of her throat, eyes sparkling maliciously. "Let's work you open, shall we?" then he pushed her down.

* * *

Ezra walked absently through the ruined streets of Rome, feeling hollowed out. She had seen fires before, more times than she could count. The destruction matched her mood; she felt as empty as the husk of buildings around her. Some of them still had most of their structure, which was made of stone, but everything that made them what they were was gone. Ezra wasn't quite there yet, she didn't think, but she idly wondered how much longer she could last.

"Ezra!"

She turned to see Crowley catching up, his expression unreadable behind his glasses. "Hello, Crowley," she responded, for lack of something to say.

"Alright, spook?" he asked, looking her over for damage.

Ezra wasn't a fool. She would not describe how or why she suffered. However, she could explain the results, if not the methods. "I have been promoted to a lord," she said.

Crowley's eyebrows went up. "Wow. Not surprising, really, what with the hellfire."

She nodded in agreement. "And you?"

"Just a witness. Nothing after we left the throne room except another assignment." He studied her for a moment. "So," he continued, moving on, "you get hellfire then got promoted. Anything else?"

"I'm not supposed to use it except when my existence is threatened, not even to save another demon."

Crowley glanced around, then gently took her elbow, as a husband might his wife. Ezra started, but then remembered that they were married as far as Rome was concerned.

“I presume you don’t want to talk about it Crowley said casually.

Ezra was a bit discombobulated after everything. She felt like she certainly had a right to be. “About what?”

“Whatever was done to leave that haunted look in your eyes.”

“Oh,” she answered softly. “You’re correct: I don’t.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Have I a choice?”

Crowley shrugged, eyes hidden behind his glasses. “Could be.”

Her own eyes narrowed. “And what is that?”

“Could keep an eye out, make sure nobody sneaks in while you’re vulnerable. Whatever.” The top of his ears flushed a bit, as if he was uncomfortable with the intimate conversation.

Ezra would have snarled had it not been for that flush. It was as much a moment of weakness for him as it was for her and she felt her aching, tired being hum with pleasure at the sight of it. She took his hand, squeezing gently.

“Your offer is too kind,” she said, and grinned as he hissed at her. “I don’t need the help, but I do appreciate it. Really.”

Crowley looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, lips still thinned from the ‘compliment.’ “If you’re sure.”

“Go do your assignment before you are accused of being lazy.”

“Too late,” he drawled. With a light squeeze of her hand, he let go and wandered off. To her horror, Ezra could feel a soft flush warm her own cheeks.


	8. Crowley's Turn

_**69 CE** _

_**Rome** _

Ezra sat on a bench in the forum, watching the movement of the crowd. The open-air pool of the Lacus Curtius was beside her, glassy and still in the freezing winter air. She had a wrap around her shoulders in acknowledgment of the cold, although she didn't need it. It took a lot for her to feel the chill.

Her assignment in Rome had ended with Emperor Nero's suicide seven months ago, but four different men claimed the throne. A civil war broke out around the empire, and Ezra had nowhere she was supposed to be yet, so she decided to stick around and watch.

Noise was made by those in the forum that the imperial litter was heading their way. Ezra noticed the Praetorian Guard about and smiled slightly.

"Twenty sesterces says Emperor Galba doesn't leave the forum alive," she murmured, then looked at the angel that had stepped up beside her. He was paying no mind to the crime about to take place, staring at her with wide, terrified eyes.

Ezra sighed and turned to watch the litter. "I'm not going to eat you. What do you need?"

"I have a message for you, Domina Ezra." He held out a page to her.

To think, an angel calling her 'mistress.' "Sit down and relax," she replied, taking the page. "You're being suspicious, and don't call me domina."

Ezra unfolded the page and frowned at the bad Latin. _I have captured the demon called Crowley. Follow Josiah without doing him harm to save him._

Ezra looked at Josiah. "What's their choir?"

"Dominion," he replied, practically trembling.

"And what makes your dominion think that I would want to rescue Crowley?"

Josiah blinked at her, astonishment eclipsing the fear briefly. "Don't you care?"

She did; Ezra would be crushed were Crowley destroyed, but not quite enough to risk her own existence. She certainly didn't want either Above or Below to know that. "Demon," she responded simply and turned back to the emperor.

Before them, almost within touching distance, the Praetorian Guard surrounded Galba. It only took a moment for the stabbing to begin.

Beside her, the little angel looked horrified. Ezra had seen worse. She watched absently while turning her situation over. Indeed, the problem was that she liked Crowley, but Ezra wasn't sure how she could justify saving him. She certainly couldn't use hellfire, which is probably what the dominion was expecting. Then again, she was a lord of Hell now, and Crowley a subordinate. Ezra was sure she owed him protection, and she could probably spin that excuse.

"Can we go now?" Josiah asked, his voice thin and face pale.

Ezra frowned at him but rose. "You need to report your dominion. They should not be sending a little angel like you after a demon lord." She pulled up her stola slightly to step over the sprayed blood, then looked at Josiah. He was still frozen on the bench. "Well, come along."

He rose and scrambled after her.

Josiah didn't talk much, but then neither did Ezra. He led her to an abandoned estate outside of Rome, not a human in sight. They walked through the main doors to the atrium. There she saw a shallow pool, most likely blessed, and a seated dominion, who rose when Ezra entered. Bond to a chair was Crowley, hands bound to the arms with fingers spread. Beside him was a table with two pitchers on it, also likely holy water.

Ezra couldn't believe that Crowley couldn't escape those bonds. He was a snake and could probably slide free. The question was if he could do it before the dominion caught him, which was definitely not the case. At his length, it would take too long for him to slither free. Ezra cocked her head and stepped further into the room, giving herself plenty of space to fight. She ended up flanking the dominion with Crowley, though that put her closer to the pool of holy water.

"You can go now, Josiah," Ezra said calmly. She didn't want to see the soft little thing hurt.

The dominion had grabbed a pitcher and nodded at the angel, and he fled.

"So you're the one that can summon hellfire," she said, confidently holding the pitcher as she moved closer to Ezra.

"I thought Archangel Michael agreed to drop the issue," Ezra replied casually.

"You are too great a danger to ignore."

"So says the dominion with two pitchers and a pool full of holy water. It astonishes me sometimes how little your kind is interested in playing fair."

"Fair?" the dominion scoffed. "We don't play fair. We play to win." With that, she turned and splashed the pitcher of water onto the chair with Crowley.

Which was empty.

Behind her, Ezra felt the enormous Serpent of Eden rise and melt back into his usual form. The dominion jerked around and spotted him, then grabbed the second pitcher.

Ezra raised her hand, the hellfire coming immediately to her fingertips. She hit the dominion with it, the shrieks unnerving as she died.

"Satan was right. That was easier," she said thoughtfully.

"I can't believe you came," Crowley said, eyes wide as he looked at her.

"There are only two of us on Earth full-time, and I'm a lord. I figured it was my responsibility. Besides, I owe you for the glasses."

“Really?” He stared at her with unblinking eyes, as if debating if he wanted to respond to her false casualness. She almost held her breath, but then he moved on, to her relief. "She grabbed because of you in the first place."

"Yes, well, now you get to go Below with me to report this."

Crowley was growing more visibly annoyed. It kept pace with the growing tremor in his hands. Ezra suspected most of this was just nerves that needed venting. "I was in Greece, minding my own business, and now I've got to report in again. I kind of wish I could kick her."

Ezra pointed to the floor. "There are ashes, but I wouldn't advise it. Who knows how long she'd be stuck to you. Now, come along."

Ezra led Crowley Below. They went to Beelzebub's throne room. Both demons froze to see Satan on the prince's throne, Beelzebub leaning casually from the right. After a moment’s pause, they stepped in and knelt before their king.

Satan watched them for a long, torturous moment, eyes hard. "Ezra, explain."

"My king," she started, "I received a message that a dominion had captured Crowley, and I was to come to save him. I decided to go as I know of his value to our cause. The dominion had a large supply of holy water. As a serpent, Crowley could escape his bonds; he just needed a distraction, which I provided. I spoke with her while Crowley freed himself. When she realized he'd escaped, she grabbed a pitcher to throw at me. I destroyed her, and then we came Down directly to report it."

Satan glanced at Crowley. "And?"

"I was finishing an assignment in Greece. My host introduced me to the dominion, believing her to be his cousin. I couldn't escape her, and she bound me and brought me to an abandoned villa near Rome. I was confident I could get away if she were distracted, but she kept up a constant vigil until Ezra arrived. When Ezra grabbed her attention, I changed forms and got away."

Satan tapped his claws into the arms of the chair, studying the pair. "Beelzebub," he asked casually, "why do we have two demons permanently assigned to Earth?"

"Roles," they responded. "Crowley is an excellent tempter, Eden and all, and Ezra was solely a reaper until she got those things that hide her eyes."

"So why are they both still there?"

Beelzebub shrugged. "They're both good at what they do. Do you want one of them reassigned?"

"If I may?" Ezra interrupted. She had no idea why she was sticking her neck out, but the same reason stood now that it did at the villa: she would miss him if he were reassigned.

Satan cocked his head. "Go on."

"I am a lord, yes? Can I not choose to have a demon serve me? An assistant to help manage the Earth?"

"Perhaps, but an assistant who cannot hope to accomplish what you can is useless."

"No one can do what I do," Ezra responded. "If he could, he would also be a lord, would he not?"

Satan considered this for a long moment. Then he looked at Beelzebub. They smiled unpleasantly and went to a filing cabinet, pulling out a pile of files and brought it back to him.

"Ezra, come here," he ordered as Beelzebub shuffled through the files. Ezra approached, firmly keeping her nerves under control. At his gesture, Ezra knelt between Satan's legs like a pet, something that made her feel slimy. Then Beelzebub handed Satan a file, who glanced through it and smiled. "Crowley."

"Yes, my king?" he answered, appearing perfectly calm.

Satan tossed a folder down onto the floor before him. “In Egypt, a priest of Serapis is working toward using the temple to help organize support from some of the region's blacker cults. A fellow priest is standing in his way. Assassinate him, and make sure no one suspects our puppet of the crime.”

Crowley paled, freezing. The demon didn't have a violent bone in his body. In all of four thousand years, Ezra was unaware of him physically injuring someone. It made sense to see if he was versatile enough to serve under her. Of course, if he couldn't pull this off, who knew what Satan would do? Ezra scrambled to think how she could help him even as she tried to appear impassive, wondering what he would do as their Master carded claws through her hair.

"Problem, demon Crowley?" Beelzebub asked dryly.

“Assassinate?” Crowley said carefully, his voice even as he picked up the folder. Ezra could still see the slightest tremor in his hand.

“As in murder,” Satan purred. “End the life and separate the soul. Do you need a dictionary?”

“No, my king,” he replied. “It’s only that—”

“No.” The demon king’s tone was hard, allowing no argument. “I want no words, only action. You will not talk your way out of this. Unless you’d rather reassignment? Abaddon has expressed interest in your subjugation.”

The Archduke of Wrath had always kept her sharp eyes on Crowley due to the frustration he was so good at inspiring. Her personal army was the Furies and other harpy-like demons that didn’t fit Crowley’s methods. Ezra had no idea what Abaddon would use the snake for, but she was sure he didn’t want to find out.

Crowley seemed to come to the same conclusion. “No. No, I can do it.”

"Go on, then." Satan grabbed Ezra's hair, holding her still. "You stay, pet. Let's make sure he has no support."

Ezra swallowed but remained still, watching as Crowley rose and left.


	9. These Trials Three

**_Egypt_ **

Crowley hurried from the room. He stood in the hall and stared at the paperwork, the name of the priest running stark before his eyes: Pahemnetjer. Feeling ill and frantically thinking, Crowley started on his way to Egypt. He just had to remind himself that he was doing this to keep what little freedom he had. If forced to return to Hell permanently, Crowley would have to do worse things than a quick death. Else he would need to rise in the ranks to protect himself; hat would have its own price.

Crowley arrived at the temple, making sure his clothing blended in with the local fashion. He slowly entered, looking around to study the various workers, to get the lay of the land. A bit of effort prevented them from noticing him. He got the impression that the two priests in question were equal in power. He could smell the taint on many of the workers, firmly in support of the damned priest. The others may or may not know about the darker proclivities of their fellows. It was almost tempting to dig his fingers in and finish the temple's corruption, but that wasn't his job. Instead, he quietly listened for the location of his target.

Very few of the priests in Egypt actually lived in the temples. Most of them inherited their positions through their families, whom they returned home to at night. The two priests involved in Crowley's mission were career priests. They were part of the few that lived in the temple. Pahemnetjer, the priest he was to kill, was currently doing evening rituals in the Sanctuary. Others would be in attendance, and despite Serapis not actually existing, the Sanctuary might be holy ground. Crowley instead went to Pahemnetjer's sleeping chamber. There, in the near dark, he considered what he was going to do when the priest arrived. There were daggers that he could use, but then there would be blood, and the thought was distressing and unpleasant. Crowley did have his fangs; he knew he was venomous, had tasted the drip when he was exceedingly enraged or terrified, but had never bitten anyone before. He didn't know how long it would take to kill the priest, though he doubted there was an anti-venom in existence that could save him. He’d never hunted when he was a snake, avoided the form if he could. The serpent was a predator, a cold and patient one that was difficult to upset. Crowley considered, shifting on his feet, but thought it might just be what he needed to get through it. He didn’t know if he could go through with killing someone otherwise, and he didn’t have a choice. He changed his form, making sure to be small enough to hide before he slithered under the bed to wait.

The door eventually opened, and servants lit candles in the room, preparing the priest's space. Crowley remained still and hidden, and finally, Pahemnetjer himself entered. It felt strange to Crowley not to talk to or interact with the priest first, to kill and move on. However, the serpent in him enjoyed the hunt, waiting and watching for the priest to come closer, so very still. His demon brain didn't like the snake's cold simplicity, but the predator was thrilled with the stillness and anticipation, endless patience. It was knowing that all he needed was one strike, and that would be enough. He watched as the jewelry and other finery was removed and set aside, then the priest moved beside his bed. Crowley shot out and was back in the shadows before the priest even cried out.

Because it was so late and evening rituals were complete, there was no one to hear his prey cry out. The human fell to the floor, body twitching, as a dark spot of rot slowly began to spread from his ankle up along his calf. The entire leg was black and desiccated, smelling both dusty and putrid by the time the neurotoxins in his venom suffocated the priest.

Crowley stared at the body for a long moment, eyes unable to blink. It was a benefit, he thought absently, so that he didn’t have to see the twitching, writhing form in the darkness behind his lids. He wanted to freeze time, to remain in that moment where he didn’t have to change back. The psychopomp came and went, an angel who watched him with narrowed eyes as he collected the soul. Once he was gone, Crowley forced himself to switch back into his standard form. The first thing that ruptured through his mind was the taste of venom and perfumed skin still coating his tongue. The body was blackened and twisted, agony in horrific relief on the face. He had done that without a tool used. A product of his body, his own being, could so terribly end a life. It was intimate and appalling, and Crowley barely stopped himself from gagging. He fumbled for a skin of wine and gulped it down, hoping to eradicate the memory of the taste. It helped, and Crowley made his way down Below, wishing he could get thoroughly trashed. He was right; the images of the dying priest were burned behind his eyelids. Fortunately, he didn’t have to blink in this form either.

He walked through the halls of Hell, slithering through the crowds, his eyes fully serpentine. He went to Beelzebub’s throne room, trying not to hope it was enough to prove he was still worthy of Earth.

This time, Ezra and Satan were not there. Beelzebub simply handed him another file. "Next time, you are to report directly to our Master. For now, there’s a commander in Roman Britannia who is very close to defeating the local tribe and unifying the area. He also has a bit of a thing for gingers." They cocked their head, staring at Crowley. "You are to assassinate him."

At least this one sounded more deserving of death.

* * *

**_Britannia_ **

Hysteria was beginning to bubble in Crowley’s chest. He had no idea what to do. He couldn’t use his venom again; it was too sickening, too intimate. He probably didn’t have it in him to strangle someone or some other slow process. Could he use poison? He couldn’t remember what was toxic to humans, fragile as they were. He appeared back on Earth on a road in Britannia and snapped his fingers, changing his appearance to a Celt, hair longer and held back in braids. He didn't know what this commander liked in his gingers, so he was arranging this on the fly, mind racing as he headed toward the nearest Roman outpost.

He considered again refusing, but he’d heard Abaddon’s desires directly from the source, and ‘subjugation’ was the exact word she had used. If not her, he could be given some other endless assignment that would drive him insane long before any Antichrist came along. More importantly, it would make the previous murder pointless, and he didn’t think he could tolerate that. The only way for him to make it out of this was to power through it and do as ordered.

Part of him wanted to blame Ezra. He knew that was unfair, but he was a demon: he didn't need to be fair. She was a blessed over-achiever. He had no idea how she could do whatever commanded, how it didn’t drive her mad. And, if he got through all of this, he would belong to the demon lord. He didn't know how that sort of arrangement would look. A part of him was intrigued. That part needed not to get him in trouble

Still mentally chewing his own tail, Crowley kept watch to take stock of the new situation as he entered the town. The Celts were going about their business, living their lives. They didn't seem particularly concerned about the Romans among them, working in their home gardens or out in the fields, herding animals about. Others worked trades or negotiated sales with their conquerors. All of them paused to glance at him, then looked away. None of them were ginger.

Crowley was beginning to wonder just what a ‘soft spot’ for gingers actually meant. It wouldn't ordinarily translate into there being absolutely none about unless 'soft spot' meant more of 'sick fascination.' He shouldn't be surprised.

The Romans were also about in the town. For the most part, they ignored the Celts or did what business they had to, otherwise staying in tight groups to converse or patrol. The non-military Romans doing the purchasing appeared to be servants or slaves. These people also watched Crowley pass, quickly looking away while the free citizens stared.

If the commander liked gingers so much, then there should at least be red hair on some of the slaves, but there was nothing, and he didn't like it. Nor did he care for everyone staring. He finally stopped and snarled, "What? Do I have horns or something?"

The Celts watched him impassively, a few almost sad. Four of the Roman soldiers peeled away from what they were doing to approach.

"This is Deva, under the control of Commander Lucius Gaius Sabinus. What is your business here?" one asked him.

Crowley huffed. "I'm making my way north. I have family up there, and they need extra hands to take care of the children and work the farm."

The soldier frowned. "There is strong resistance to the emperor's rule to the north."

"I’m to Eboracum, as you call it. It's not so far north as where the troubles lie. I've no interest in fighting Romans."

The soldier nodded and looked him over. "The commander will want to talk to you."

"I'm sure your Roman commander has better things to do than talk to a Celtic wanderer," Crowley scoffed, tossing his hair.

Two of the soldiers put their hands on their swords. "We insist," their ringleader said firmly.

It wasn't quite what Crowley’d had in mind, but really, he didn't know what he should expect at this point. He held up his hands placatingly. "Alright, no need for that. I said I didn't want to fight Romans, and I meant it. Just don't see what he would want to talk to me for."

The four soldiers escorted Crowley toward a fortified villa. It was the fanciest place in town, with guards circling the property and barracks for those soldiers flanking the estate. The guards that saw him were equally surprised as their brethren but then went back about their business after a second glance. What Roman civilians there were about the property watched him and whispered amongst themselves.

"Seriously, do I have mud in my hair or something?" Crowley asked his entourage.

The soldiers escorted him inside without answer, two of them wandering off now that he was trapped in a building.

The slave that let them in also raised eyebrows at Crowley, then silently led them to the main chamber and opened the doors. Commander Lucius Gaius Sabinus was looking over a map, listening to a sergeant. When the slave entered, the commander snarled, "We are in the middle of something."

"This is a standing order, Commander," the slave replied.

Sabinus looked up and froze at the sight of Crowley. His eyes lingered on dark red locks, moving over them like a caress. Crowley was more than capable of recognizing the look he received. That wasn't a 'soft spot;' that was obsession, hungry and violent. It was the kind of desire that had nothing to do with what was between Crowley's legs, and everything with satisfying whatever need it was that the ginger hair inspired.

"I see," the commander finally said as he straightened. He was remarkably pulled together despite what Crowley had seen in his eyes. "See to a room and bath for our guest. I will finish up here."

"Is this really necessary?" Crowley asked. He knew there was no way Sabinus would let him escape, but he had to play the part. The Romans gasped at his rudeness, but really, he was a bit put out.

"Please indulge me," Sabinus replied. Then, with an impressive force of will, he turned back to his sergeant. "As you were saying?"

Crowley was guided into a plush room with another slave kneeling and clean clothes laid out. They took away anything resembling a weapon, and there was certainly nothing in the room that he could use. He stripped off his clothing, and the slave massaged olive oil into his skin before using a curved tool to scrape him clean gently. Crowley considered the tool's edge, but he was not unfamiliar with such blades: it was too blunt to use as a weapon. The slave then moved to his hair, carefully picked his braids free, then rubbed oil into his scalp. It felt amazing, and he wished it was happening under different circumstances. Finally, Crowley was left to get dressed, and he pulled on a simple tunic that hung down to his knees with a cord for his waist.

Crowley did not like this. The situation didn't bother him exactly; he’d expected some of this. He had not anticipated being taken directly to the commander or being pampered. It suggested that his situation was more precarious than Hell had told him.

All he had to do now was fret over the next steps. He didn’t know what was coming next or how he was supposed to proceed. His mind flashed with all of the millions of ways he’d seen humans murdered in the past, and the thought of doing any of them himself reminded him of venom and perfumed skin on his tongue, turning his stomach.

Crowley was a creator. He’d spun stars into existence. God had eventually created an archangel specifically to destroy because it was so antithetical to the creators. It wasn’t that he couldn’t stomach death or murder: it was just the idea of doing it himself. Now that he thought about it, perhaps murder was similar to crafting a black hole, transmuting one thing into another.

With that thought rattling in his head, Crowley focused more on his surroundings.

There wasn't a window, meaning they expected him to try and escape. It was difficult to tell how much time had passed before the door opened, and the commander came in. Sabinus stared at him as the door closed and locked it behind him, the same obsessed, hungry look on his face. Crowley suspected things were about to get violent, and he still hadn't decided what to do.

"I'm not trying to cause trouble," he said, carefully rising. "I'm only passing through. Why have you locked me in here?"

"Your hair," Sabinus replied, surprising Crowley with his honesty. "It's like fire. I've not seen such a thing in Rome."

"I cannot imagine that's completely true." It couldn't be, since Crowley himself hung out in Rome on occasion. He didn't get stared at all that much when he was there.

Sabinus didn't seem to care that he had essentially called him a liar. He stepped closer, putting his hands on Crowley's arms. The demon was taller than the commander, but not by much. "I see your red hair as a mark, and I think that you are a servant of your gods come to challenge us." He grasped the soft, red curls and brushed it back from Crowley's face. In doing so, he revealed the serpent mark and froze. "It's true," he breathed.

Ordinarily, Crowley would play this situation like a fiddle, but the endgame was murder, and he didn't know how to get there. What had Ezra done? But Ezra had those stupid eyes of hers. Perhaps it was ridiculous, but Crowley took off his glasses, showing his own eyes.

The commander whimpered. Crowley could feel his erection pressed hard against his own thigh. "Oh, dear. You've caught me," the demon purred.

The commander looked like there wasn't any blood left in his brain. "You are a spirit," he breathed.

Crowley pressed closer to Sabinus, letting his thigh slide between the Roman's legs. "What are you going to do with me now that you have me?"

Sabinus' callused hands ran under Crowley's tunic, stroking the planes of his stomach. "I cannot let you go."

"Oh, no," Crowley agreed. "Who knows what terrible things I might be up to?"

Suddenly, he was on the bed, and a dagger pressed to his throat. "I should destroy you," the Roman hissed in his ear, hips pushed hard between Crowley's legs.

Crowley looked up at him with wide eyes, trying to look small and enticing. He couldn't fail this assignment, and discorporating definitely qualified. "I don't intend to stay," he said softly, looking up at the commander. "I'm just passing through. I mean no harm to your people."

Sabinus stared down at him hungrily. "Take off the belt."

Crowley slowly obeyed, pulling teasingly at the end of the cord, twisting his hips and rolling his body against Sabinus as he did as commanded. The problem was that none of it was getting him closer to killing the Roman. The fragile understanding he’d come up with was starting to unravel in the face of his growing panic. Undoubtedly, the commander would be distracted mid-coitus, but he didn't know if he could murder the human while his dick was inside of him.

Once he had let the cord drop, Sabinus pushed at his own clothes and grasped one of Crowley's legs to lift it to his shoulder. It made the dagger press harder into Crowley's neck. Sabinus' attention was focused below and not on the weapon. Crowley fought with himself for a moment but then forced himself to strike. He grabbed the hand with the blade and twisted, forcing Sabinus onto the bed. He ripped the dagger away and thrust it into the Roman's neck before slicing across. The hot spray of blood was immediate and surprising, hitting Crowley in the face as the commander choked on it. It took mere seconds but felt like centuries as the human bled out and died.

Crowley stared with wide eyes at the still human on the bed, everything so shockingly still after terrible, awful violence. He slowly looked down at himself, horrified by the blood that slid down his cheeks and made his fingers slick. He had once made the stars with those hands, molding the elements into something beautiful. Now he had taken a second life, violent and brutal, destroyed when he had been made to create. He nearly whined again, the panic curling in his throat until he couldn't breathe. He tried to snap his fingers, to clean the blood away, but it was all over and his fingers were slippery. Hysteria bubbled in the back of his throat.

"Nibbles?"

Crowley let out a strangled scream, whipping around while stumbling back off of the bed. Less than a foot from where he'd been was Ravenna, the infernal psychopomp that often collected souls for Ezra. She blinked her black eyes at him.

"Wh-what?" Crowley hesitated. He didn't know what nibbles were.

Ravenna pushed forward and scrambled over the body. Then she shoved her arm down the throat to grab the soul from the center of the chest. Crowley nearly gagged at the way it distended the gaping slice across the neck. "Lots of blood," she clacked her tongue, "and plump little eyeballs for nibbles."

"You're going to eat his eyes?"

Ravenna paused, looking up at him. "Would the little snake like an eyeball?"

Crowley paled, taking another step back. "No, no. They’re all yours."

She plucked one and put it into her mouth, popping it against the roof of her mouth with her tongue. Crowley dry heaved helplessly, raising a hand to cover his mouth before he remembered the blood. The hysteria nearly overwhelmed him, and only a desperate act of will stopped hot tears.

Ravenna arched an eyebrow as she watched Crowley suffer. "Why are you playing murder instead of Ezra?"

"Orders," he gasped, unsure if he could trust the raven demon.

Ravenna hummed thoughtfully. "Poppet always leaves me nibbles," she croaked. "How do you intend to escape with so much red? It's not your color."

“It was…” He tried to snap again, but the drying blood was tacky, and he couldn’t manage it. A sob bubbled in his throat.

Talking was stopping him from screaming, helping him to think. "I’ll… I’ll just go directly to Hell." Crowley wiped the blood off his hands onto a sheet. Only then was he able to clean himself up and abandon Britannia. He changed his clothing and cleaned up in Hell, then headed toward Satan’s throne room, forcing the horror. He wanted to hide, to sob, but he had to swallow it down. They couldn’t see his weakness. He didn’t know how he could continue this test when everything was so awful. The violence, the taste… was it better to make it impersonal with venom but use a weapon generated of his being, or suffer through the horrid blood and body pieces? How did Ezra survive it?

Once he arrived, face once again as blank as a snake’s even as his mind wouldn’t stop racing, he knelt before the Dark Council. There he awaited acknowledgment, histrionics stuffed deep.

"We could milk him for his venom," Samyaza said thoughtfully, as if in mid-conversation. The idea of the Council discussing him was too terrifying to consider. "The extent of the necrosis was delightful."

"Then he wouldn't have it when we want him to," Beelzebub snapped. "What use is a serpent without venom?"

"Up to this point, he's been plenty useful," the Archduke of Gluttony pointed out. But then Samyaza backed down, watching Crowley thoughtfully, perhaps a bit too keenly.

"It could be one of his duties in Hell," Asmodeus added on, sounding indulgent. "We could definitely milk him for you."

"Wrong kind of milking," Samyaza replied, amused.

"He has a final assignment," Dagon interrupted. "You can wring his fluid from him later." They offered the file to Satan. At their Master's feel was Ezra, collared and chained but not looking worse for this ordeal.

Satan took the folder that Dagon offered but didn't open it. Instead, he cocked his head, studying Crowley impassively. "We'll send him after the cult," he said, tossing the folder aside. One of Dagon's secretaries scrambled after it.

The energy about the Council tensed. "I didn’t know the help was needed," Asmodeus said, sounding more curious than disapproving.

Satan didn't acknowledge his question. Instead, he raised one hand and crooked a finger forward, beckoning something behind him. From the dark depths of the cavern stepped two demons, hellfire bright in their eyes. Her expression was calculating and hungry, honey eyes locked on Crowley. Her dark skin shined in the flickering firelight of the throne room, her dreadlocks a wild mass. He was tall and slender, pale with coal-black curls and matching, empty eyes. Where he was watchful as a predator, she was feral and unpredictable. Both had a collar around their necks, proclaiming them the sole property of Satan, the only two demons besides the Council that reported directly to the king.

Samael was the only angel who kept their name after the Fall. It meant 'the Venom of God,' which was an apt description for him. He had been the Archangel of Destruction, the only one who could undo the Virtues’ works, God's will made manifest. The Almighty merely pointed Her finger, and he had ended things. During the Rebellion, Beelzebub had been Lucifer's right hand, but Samael had been his left. Crowley had known him, being as close as he was to Lucifer's inner circle, and he'd always wondered why Samael had joined the Rebellion. It could have been because he believed in it, but Crowley's money was on the hungry challenge to unmake the creation that was Heaven. During the war, Samael destroyed countless legions of angels single-handedly. He was cast down with the rest of them but made to remember who and what he was to Heaven and God. The archangel had gone mad, becoming a wild thing which destroyed indiscriminately. Because all in Hell had to obey Lucifer as their King and Master, Samael was eventually collared and left to his sole command. No one else could master him; no one, that is, except his partner.

Lilith was the First Woman, made to be Adam's bride. However, when it came time to procreate, Lilith decided that she would not lay under Adam if he were not willing to be beneath her as well. Lilith was cast into Hell, the first human soul damned. Lilith refused still to be less-than. She would not bow to the Fallen, would not submit to her tortures. As the First Woman, Lilith was something different than the rest of humankind, better able to hold her own. She also became a feral creature, fighting her way free of every attempt to contain and torment her.

It had been love at first sight, or what passed for it. Samael didn't care if he was subservient to Lilith, and she had no fear of being destroyed by him. Their wild hungers danced around each other, and they were content to obey Lucifer as long as they had each other. They were his secret weapons, Hell's nuclear option, and Crowley was terrified of being near them. They both knew him, Lilith from Eden and Samael before, and he would have prayed they didn't remember him if he wasn't kneeling in front of the Dark Council. Something terrifyingly close to despair tightened Crowley’s throat.

"There is a cult," Satan continued, "on the coast of Cyprus, that has corrupted the worship of Glykon and serpents. The cult believes that fertility pathways can lead to immortality and have been doing many dark rituals to reach their goal. They were useful for a time, to coerce more supplicants into their shady practices, but now they have attracted too much attention, and their usefulness has passed. You will all go and destroy the cult. I want every soul down here."

"Of course," Lilith purred.

"As you say," Samael added.

Crowley swallowed but bowed his head. "Yes, my king."

Satan waved them away, and the two demons stalked across the floor. They each scooped an arm under Crowley's and lifted him, dragging him out of the throne room with them. They might as well be taking him to his execution.

"You don't have to drag me," he muttered, not daring to resist them. He didn't want to get on their bad sides.

They pulled him into a random office. "Out," Lilith snarled at the workers inside. They all scrambled, looking a little too used to this happening. Crowley was sat on a desk and released while the two stared down at him.

"Hello, Crowley," Samael purred, leaning in to lick along the corner of the serpent's jaw, under his ear. Crowley couldn't suppress the shudder.

"As Lucifer said, the cult of Glykon worships snakes," Lilith said in her purring, imperious tone, ignoring her lover's antics. "Samael can change his shape into one, pretty close to his current size, but you are the Serpent of Eden. I remember you being a bit bigger than that." She reached up and snagged his glasses, pulling them off of his nose with a single finger, revealing his eyes. "And then there is that. So, are you a true snake?"

Crowley didn't want to talk to them about his nature. He was in the midst of an existential crisis, thanks to his previous two tasks. What if he forgot how to change back? What if he couldn't remember what he was and just became an enormous demonic serpent, no better than a pet? However, he didn't want anyone to know those fears and certainly not any of Hell's most dangerous demons.

"If a demonic snake could be considered a true one,” he said, his voice a bit hollow. "I shed, I have venom, and I'm a lot larger than six feet."

Lilith cocked her head. "Interesting. What does your venom do?"

Crowley swallowed, closing his eyes without thinking and seeing the twisting priest in the darkness there. He still didn’t know what was worse. Crowley carefully shrugged, careful not to dislodge Samael. He'd rather not anger the ex-archangel. "Makes it so the victim can't move, and the flesh starts to rot."

Lilith and Samael grinned at each other. "Can you make it do more of one than the other?"

Crowley blinked, startled at the question. Could he? It was a puzzle for his mind to latch onto, something practical, and he jumped on it. That actually might be useful. "I don't know," he said thoughtfully, chewing it over.

Lilith looked at Samael again, and he left the office. A moment later, he came back in with a trembling lesser demon.

"I… I got stuff to do, you know. I got paperwork for Dagon from Archduke Belephor," the demon stuttered.

"Really?" Crowley asked blandly. "From Belephor? The Archduke of Sloth? Yes, let's just hurry up and let you go."

The demon looked at him, blinking as the reality of his argument set in, and he paled.

"Bite him," Lilith commanded.

Crowley nearly blanched. Instead, he glanced over the festering sores littering the demon's arm and forced a somewhat appalled face. "I'd really rather not."

"Bite him," she ordered again. "Try to make it mostly the stunning part. We want to save the rot for later."

"Rot?" the demon squeaked.

Crowley looked him over, trying to find a spot that wouldn't give him some kind of demonic disease. The only one was on the demon's neck. He glanced at Lilith, but she just watched him expectantly. Crowley concentrated on his venom's neurotoxin part, putting a bit of magic behind it, and struck. Fortunately, he didn't have to hold on for a test, so he made it as quick as possible. Lilith and Samael only seemed to realize he'd done as commanded when he made a face and gagged, fangs out. A striking snake was blindingly fast.

The demon winced and put a hand over the bite. "Ow," he whined. He rubbed it, shooting them pitiful looks when suddenly he started to cough, then gasp. He stumbled to his knees, trying harder to breathe, his hands shaking.

Crowley considered reminding the demon bitterly that he didn't need to breathe but decided to let it pass.

The demon fell onto the floor, body spasming and twitching, froth on his lips.

"Is this going to destroy him?" Samael asked, unimpressed.

"I doubt it since he doesn't need to breathe," Crowley replied. "He'll just be sore when he can move again."

"When is that?"

He shrugged, exhaustion starting to seep in. He hadn’t considered his body might get tired from replenishing the venom. "Your guess is as good as mine. It's only the second time I've bitten someone. But the necrosis should have shown up by now, so I guess that's a success."

"Good." Lilith grabbed the twitching demon and threw him out, closing the door again. "Here's what we're going to do."

* * *

**_Isle of Cyprus_ **

When the cult's summoning circle was open enough for them to make a connection, Lilith reached forth and pulled all three of them into the ritual room. Crowley was in his massive serpent form, Lilith seated upon his coils like a throne. Wrapped around her was Samael shapeshifted into a snake. All three of them turned to look at the high priest, who appeared shocked that someone had arrived.

"Why do you look so surprised, little human?" Lilith asked, her tone soft but certainly not gentle. "Did you not wish to summon the snake gods?"

The priest kept staring at Crowley, stumbling and near gibbering as he tried to take in the sight of the fantastic serpent. Finally, he fell to his knees, and the rest of the congregation did as well.

"Yes," he finally managed to say. "We welcome you and hope that you will teach us your ways."

"Teach you?" Lilith asked. She rose and stepped forward, Samael still draped around her. "What is it you wish to know?"

"It is through the serpent that lies the way to immortality," the high priest said, looking up at her. "The serpent ever renews, so we make our sacrifices to take in the venom and shed our mortal forms." He gestured forward, and the young woman intended as the blood sacrifice rose, reaching to take off her gown.

Lilith raised her hand, stopping the woman. "If it is through the venom," she said to the high priest, "then venom you shall have."

She gestured for him to rise, and he did, looking both pleased and confused. Crowley rose, and the priest seemed aware only too late that the giant snake was the one providing the venom. In this form, the predator was cool and calm, Crowley’s racing thoughts about the murders set aside. To the serpent, he was doing what he had to do. Anything was acceptable in the name of survival, and Crowley clung to that cold surety. Obedient, he grabbed the priest in his coils, turning him so that the venom's progression could be witnessed, and bit down. His mouth wrapped around the priest's hip, covering half his torso and burying both fangs in the pelvis. Then Crowley dropped him and pulled back.

He hadn't wanted to bite the priest. He hadn't felt it necessary to make the man suffer, but Lilith was apparently in charge and unwilling to cede the idea. On the ground before him, the priest whined, sweat immediately beading with pain. He dug at his robes to pull them up, and the black rot was already evident. Before their eyes, it began to spread. Crowley idly thought it strange how the flesh rotted but ended up looking like something black and mummified.

The high priest screamed, scrambling at the wound, but there was nothing he could do. The rest of the cult stood and watched, horrified, as it spread through his pelvis, climbing up into his diaphragm, down into his thighs, eating everything in its way. As it slowly killed him, Crowley and Samael both switched back to their standard forms, watching and waiting. Some people turned to run, but Lilith reached forward with her power and closed the doors, sealing them all into the room.

Fortunately, there was just enough neurotoxin left in the venom that the high priest finally died when the shock, necrosis reaching his lungs, and the semi-paralysis all cut off his oxygen.

"I don't think it worked," Lilith said dryly. She looked around at the cultists. "Perhaps we should try that blood-as-venom thing after all, hmm?"

Crowley and Samael manifested daggers and waited for her signal. The serpent clung to the predator's mind that told him all was fair in the name of survival. He had to obey the First Woman, or he would be destroyed. Lilith gestured, and they moved in. It was a bloodbath after that point. Lilith participated with them, as instrumental in Samael's destruction as he was in her need to dominate. Plenty begged, and many fought back. Crowley shut off the part of his mind that remembered the stars in his hands, that had ever touched creation. He wanted to survive this, was determined to, and the only way was to play to Lilith and Samael’s tune. He had to obey whatever plans they came up with, or they would destroy him, and Lucifer knew it. In a way, it felt like being betrayed by the once-archangel all over again. But Crowley couldn't be sentimental, couldn’t be emotional. He did as commanded, aware that this was a test of obedience and his ability to cull like Ezra. He paid no heed to the humans and their words or actions, striking blinding fast.

A strange thing happened as he worked. Crowley had experienced the snake-as-predator as a cold, patient thing. He didn’t need to rend his prey, so blood should hold no excitement. But the steady destruction, the flow of blood tickled his senses, filling his nose and coating his tongue until that hungry predator stirred, thrilled at all of the blood and meat surrounding him.

There was nothing the humans could do to stop or hurt him. The violence became a thrilling, stirring thing. Then a hand caught him, and he whipped around, stopping with his dagger just inches from Samael's throat, fangs bared and a hiss on his tongue. He wanted to move forward, to finish the ex-archangel, and Samael’s eyes darkened at his expression

Around them, every cult member was dead. Their bodies were in pieces, and blood coated the room.

Something cracked inside of Crowley, something that would have fallen into pieces had the predator not been there to fill the space.

Lilith's hands slid under Crowley's dripping tunic to caress his stomach. "Well now, what a good boy you are, Crowley."

Samael pressed closer, licking the blood off the dagger in Crowley's hand. He purred hungrily. "I like this one. I like how much he doesn't want it. Ezra is too cold. This one has fire."

"That's ironic," Crowley said numbly, floating somewhere just outside of his body.

Lilith scratched his chest but then reluctantly released him. "We need to report in. Maybe he'll let us play a bit?"

Samael released Crowley's wrist. "We can only ask."


	10. Tensions Mount

They returned to Hell, Crowley trapped between the two, passive and numb. All three went directly to the main throne room, none of them changing clothing. The blood dripped from them without drying, a memento of their successful hunt, which Crowley absently found strange. It remained wet and glistening as an emblem of their success.

A few of the Council members were gone back in the throne room, but Satan was there with Dagon and Beelzebub, Ezra kneeling at their Master's feet. Ezra’s expression was impossible to read.

The three of them knelt, Lilith and Samael keeping Crowley between them.

"Well done," Satan said, black eyes boring into Crowley. "I can see that you enjoyed yourselves."

"Yes," Lilith said, the sound hissed with relish. "Thank you, King."

"And how did our little serpent do?"

"As commanded," she continued. "Crowley did all that we demanded of him; the blood he wears a memento of his victims."

"Well done indeed," Satan murmured, pleased.

Then Lilith took Crowley’s arm. "May we have him, King? Just for a while? We will return him in one piece."

"He did so well," Samael continued, taking the other arm. "We would like to celebrate with him."

A distant part of Crowley wanted to fight the request. It was probably better that he didn’t, certainly safer. It did interest him when Ezra spoke up.

"My King," she said, looking up at Satan. "Crowley has passed the tests that you have set before him. By your words, that makes him mine."

"And by yours, you mean mine," Satan pointed out. "But why should I listen to your request over theirs?"

"Because I am a lord, and they are not," Ezra replied coldly. Lilith and Samael snarled at her.

Satan leaned back, stroking Ezra's hair with his claws. "Interesting. And what do you have to say, Crowley?"

_Fuck that,_ Crowley’s brain nearly hissed. He kept that to himself. "I would not presume to tell you what your decision should be,” he replied blandly. At least he didn’t sound as faint as he felt.

"I asked for your opinion, Serpent. Time was you had plenty of those. Give it to me."

Said serpent mentally sighed. The cold, empty place he was in didn’t have an opinion, so he let himself sink a bit into the hysteria beneath, hot like sulfur. Crowley did not want to be given to Lilith and Samael, but he didn’t want to belong to Ezra either, not right at this moment. Since breaking down into insane shrieking was a poor career move, all of his rage and horror chose to focus on Ezra, the furious burning buried under the cold predator. He didn’t want to talk to or deal with Ezra just then, but what other option was there?

Crowley looked up at Satan, eyes flat as a snake’s and tone bland. "I would like to get back to work," he finally replied, saying both everything and nothing.

Lilith and Samael didn't seem pleased that he didn't vote for them, but neither did he vote for Ezra. One could hardly bitch about a demon that wanted to work.

Satan looked pleased. Crowley wouldn’t be surprised if the devil could see how broken he felt. "Very well," Satan said. He looked at his servants. "Another time."

Both pouted, but they rose and headed back into the darkness behind the throne. Satan tapped Ezra and gestured for her to stand. "You have a day to get yourselves in order; then you'll have your next assignment."

Ezra bowed and turned to leave. As she passed Crowley, he rose and followed her out. He was displeased with being handed to her, but she might leave him alone, unlike the other two. She escorted Crowley back to Earth. Rather than take him into the marsh as he expected, she led him to a sedate house inside Rome. Inside was a bath of flowing water.

"Sorry, but the water is tepid," she said. "The heat is wasted on me." She then reached up to take his tunic, but Crowley frowned at her, eyes hard. Ezra lowered her hands. “Crowley?”

“What are you doing?” he asked, tone unfriendly.

It was hard to read her expression around the glasses, but she looked unsure. “It’s difficult to remove blood-soaked clothes. I thought you might want out of them, so I was going to help.”

Crowley simply snapped and the clothes were gone. “Simple.” There was some delay before it occurred to him that he was naked in front of her.

She looked like she was going to say something but changed her mind. “Would you like for me to warm the water for your bath?”

“I can manage.” He turned and waded in, watching with interest as the blood spiraled away from him. He could feel her eyes and looked back over his shoulder, affecting a smoldering look. “Like what you see?”

Color pinked faintly over Ezra’s white cheeks, but she didn’t turn away like expected. “I won’t ask if you’re alright. Is there any way that I can help?”

“Beyond what you have already done?”

She sighed. “So you do blame me.”

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

Ezra wrapped her arms around her waist, looking vulnerable. “You can blame me if it helps. Would you like something to help you scrub up with? Blood is difficult to wash out.”

He nearly bared fangs at the condescending response. The hysteria boiled like lava beneath the frozen surface. He wanted to hurt her, and he knew how. “Why don’t you come here and help me?”

Ezra looked at him, once again difficult to read. Standing in the bath, the water reached just above Crowley’s pelvic bone. He shifted so that his stance was licentious and inviting, aiming at her terror. To his shock, Ezra gestured, and her clothes disappeared. Her body was softer than expected, rounder than the gaunt shadows hinted. She waded into the water to stand in front of him, a pitcher to pour from in her hand.

Something other than rage came to the surface, something less burning. Crowley wanted to reach out and touch, to test the softness, but he could see the faint tremors of her fear ripple over her skin and he couldn’t reach out, unsure if he would be gentle. Instead, he sank into the water, letting her pour the pitcher over his head.

Crowley remained still as Ezra bathed him, lost and confused under her firm, gentle hands. She was perfunctory, but it felt like something almost from another place and time, back when touch could never hurt. Her hands didn’t stray, moving over every nook and cranny of his form. She even had him sit so she could wash his feet. It banked the fire within him and eased him out of the cold-blooded predator mind-set.

Once she’d been over everything, Ezra guided him from the pool and started from the top using oil. She massaged him from head to toe, picking clean every last bit of lingering blood and smoothing out tight muscles. The hysteria eased under her gentle hands, but it also rose to the surface, no longer constricted in cold coils. His hands began to tremble, tears stinging his eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” he whispered, unable to give voice to his words.

Ezra never hesitated. “Why did you give me the glasses?” she asked. “Because you could; because it was useful to you. Maybe this is useful to me.”

“How?” His voice cracked.

She was silent a moment. “It reminds me that there is still gentleness in this world. You helped me. Now I’m offering you the care I wish I’d had.” She finished rubbing his feet, a slight, black shift on, and rose. She gathered a blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders. “Come rest. You need to let the shock work through you.”

“I don’t need to do anything,” he replied automatically, his words without bite.

“But you do like to sleep,” Ezra pointed out. She snapped her fingers, and a fire erupted in the hearth of a small room, the only one that looked lived in. Scrolls littered the desk and nearby surfaces, and a lounge stretched out by the fire. She set him there, giving him a wine glass with the bottle on the table beside him.

"Rest," she said, then walked to the desk and set aside her glasses, picking up a scroll.

* * *

"Crowley!"

He surged upright, fangs bared in a hiss. Before him, Ezra was once again adequately attired, glasses firmly in place.

"Satan only gave us one day. I figured you'd want to be awake when we get our next assignments."

"Why did you shout at me?" he grumbled, rubbing his face.

"Because you wouldn't wake up, and I'm not getting within striking distance."

Considering how he rose, he could hardly complain. Still, he didn't have to admit it. He was still in a loose robe from the night before, so he conjured clothes before sitting up. He felt hollowed out, off-kilter, and the horrors of the previous day were still vivid and gnawing. The immediacy had dimmed, but he could see the slaughter behind his eyes and felt nothing but cold. The rage from before was gone, eased under Ezra’s firm hands.

"Do you want me to thank you?" he asked bluntly. Sometimes he just wasn’t sure where he stood with Ezra. What she had done for him was nothing he could have expected from another demon, and certainly not from someone who had Fallen because of him.

"Best not," she replied. "Do you feel up for more work?"

"If I say no?"

Ezra shrugged. "I could probably get you another day or two, but anything beyond that will make you look weak."

Crowley didn't want to show Hell any vulnerability. He already felt broken, and he suspected Satan knew it. Still, life was so much easier when the Hellish Powers-That-Be loved him. He wasn't sure what his relation to Ezra now meant for everyone involved, but he knew he didn't want to appear weak.

"So you own me then?" he said, watching the wraith.

Ezra scoffed. "I hardly think so. Your tests were to allow you to remain on Earth."

"But you claimed me in front of the Dark Council."

"I merely reminded our king that I am a lord and my preferences take precedent over Lilith's." Ezra cocked her head. "I think you are very good at your job, and I should like it if we could occasionally work together, or at least not get in each other's way." Her expression was as impassive as usual as she continued. "I had rather hoped we were on the same page with that."

Thinking back on it, Ezra’s willingness to bathe him, bare, felt like a bigger deal than it had at the time, a sign of some kind of trust. Still, he wasn’t sure they were, in fact, on the same page. Crowley tasted the air with a flick of his tongue. It was always so blessed impossible to read her face, and her low body temperature made her scent weird, but he'd known Ezra for four thousand years. He knew what her nerves smelled like, and he tasted them now. She really did want this to work out, and he couldn't imagine why. "Why do you care?" he asked, puzzled.

Ezra looks away, staring at the wall for a long moment. Suddenly, she rose, her fingers twisting together as she paced. "Don't you get tired of watching your back?" she asked. "Heaven would as soon smite us as look at as, and all of Hell is in a power struggle to avoid being tortured by someone bigger and meaner. Don't you miss being able to let your guard down around someone? Anyone? Just one person?"

It was uncharacteristically blunt and open. "Like a friend?" Crowley asked warily.

"This can't be strange to you, Crowley," she insisted. "You knew where my favorite tree was in the marshes and brought me a gift. Maybe it was for your protection, maybe not, but it was something that lets me be free of the shackles of my powers, at least a little. That's not a small thing for me. If we could truly trust each other, then maybe we could forge some kind of agreement that would benefit both of us."

"An arrangement," he mused.

Ezra's stare was cold even behind the glasses. "I saved you from Lilith, not because I want to own you, but because I had the power to do so. I stuck my neck out for you, just to help you. Imagine what we could accomplish together."

“You want for us to be… what, partners?”

Ezra shrugged, looking a bit unsure. “Or at least… well, yeah. Friends.”

“And if you were commanded to hurt me?”

She hesitated, then spread her hands helplessly. “I would do what I could to get out of it. Barring that, I would make it as easy as I could get away with.”

He couldn’t complain; Crowley would do the same. Curious, he reached out and plucked at her stolla, pulling her in front of him. Then he slid his hands under the skirt of her dress to stroke her legs.

Ezra nearly fell as she stumbled back, glasses knocked askew in her scramble to get out of reach. “I didn’t offer benefits,” she snapped.

Crowley wasn’t concerned. Perhaps he truly was broken now. “Just testing the boundaries. Last night skirted a line.”

“Not that much.”

“You touching me all over while naked is less than me touching your legs while you’re clothed?”

Ezra stared, eyes studying him through her glasses as if trying to read him. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Please believe me when I say that I’ve never wanted to see you suffer like this.”

Of course she would turn it back on him.

Before they could continue to discuss it, a fire ignited on the low-lying table in front of Crowley. They both watched as the fire incinerated a scroll in reverse. Ezra retrieved it after the flames had gone out and unrolled it.

"There's an influential family to the south that needs a tutor for their child. The goal is to encourage the child young so that he'll be a terrible and dangerous military commander for the empire."

Crowley held his hand out for the scroll, but it said exactly what Ezra had read. "Who is supposed to do that?"

"I suspect it's our decision."

Crowley had no interest in spending years playing a tutor. He did have a few ideas he could dig into, which happened to have the added benefit of keeping away from Ezra as he decided how to bring himself to terms with what had happened.

"You'll be the better tutor," he said. "I'm thinking of heading up into Britannia to agitate the Roman conquest."

Ezra watched him silently, face impassive, then looked over at the fire in the hearth. "Alright," she replied. She rose and set the scroll on her desk. "I believe we should try to keep in touch, to keep each other abreast of our actions."

"Sure." He didn't have a problem working with Ezra, not really. He liked her and would rather have her at his back than anyone else in Hell. However, he needed some time, and he knew perfectly well that, given the command, she would stab him in the back without a thought. Right then, he didn't want or need a babysitter.

Ezra nodded slowly, not fooled by his answer. She didn’t look at him as she said, "You're welcome to stay until you're ready to leave." Then she left.


	11. Cold Open Redux

_**537 CE** _

_**Kingdom of West Essex** _

Crowley moved almost silently through the trees. He hated armor: it was so blessed noisy, but at least the leathers were more comfortable to deal with than the full plate he usually had to wear as the Black Knight. He needed stealth for the person he was trying to hunt down. He’d heard that Merlin, the king’s advisor, had wandered off into the woods. There were all sorts of gossip and wild tales about the man, not the least of which was that he was half-demon. Crowley hadn’t been able to confirm that with Below, but it wasn’t strictly impossible. Then again, knocking humans up typically didn’t happen by accident, so someone would have been in big trouble if they had. Crowley’s money was on the Grigori that Archduke Samyaza ruled. They had been the Nephilim source three thousand years ago, half-angels, so why not now with a cambion, a half-demon?

What Crowley did know was that Merlin was a sorcerer. Generally speaking, human magic wasn’t really a threat to a demon, but a cambion’s magic might be. Honestly, Crowley hadn’t a plan as he tracked the mortal down. He had means and opportunity, but a plan was strikingly absent. He hadn’t actually decided what he would do when he froze at the edge of the tree line. The clearing before him had a small lake in it; Merlin was tangled with a figure with round, white limbs on the shores of that lake. He had also heard of Merlin’s weakness for a pretty face but hadn’t expected to find him with someone. He had especially not expected that someone to be the mysterious woman from the lake that people also whispered about. Were they a couple?

Crowley liked a certain amount of gossip, but he was tired of conjecture.

He was about to step forward, to do what he didn’t know, when Merlin tossed a piece of her clothing aside and pulled her up. Ezra settled onto his lap, straddling him, her dark glasses the only thing she was wearing. Something dark and angry roiled in Crowley’s belly, claws digging into the tree he was hiding behind. Merlin reached for lenses, but she pulled back coyly.

“It is not safe to view my eyes, my lord,” she purred, sliding her arms around his neck.

“Haven’t you heard, Enchantress? I am a great sorcerer sired by demons. I do not fear a beautiful woman.”

“Beauty is what men should fear most. It warns of the venom beneath.”

“Have you any venom, my lovely?” Merlin asked her, running his hands over her ribs.

“No, my lord,” she lied coyly. Ezra plucked at his clothes, but Merlin’s hand slid up to her face.

“Come now. I would like to watch your eyes as you are overcome.” He plucked off the glasses and looked at her.

Crowley had to admit the sorcerer was powerful. Merlin seemed to realize he’d made a terrible mistake and fought the compulsion, but he wasn’t strong enough to win against Ezra and soon fell under her power. Ezra’s teasing expression melted to blankness, and she casually set him ablaze in balefire before rising and manifesting a simple black shift.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to use the balefire?” Crowley called out, moving into the clearing.

Ezra glanced at him; it was impossible to tell if she’d been startled. She picked her glasses up off the floor and replaced them. “Special orders. If he was a cambion, they didn’t want him loose in Hell.” She snapped, and a glass globe appeared, ready to imprison the human’s soul.

“And that required you naked in his lap?”

Ezra didn’t look at him, her movements jerky. “Rumors told that he was quite enamored of females.”

Crowley considered responding acidly, but Ezra actually looked upset. “You still don’t like sex, do you?”

“There was no sex,” she snapped immediately, then scowled. “How do you feel about murder?”

The serpent’s face blanked, feeling at the cold creep back in. So it was going to be like that then? “Sex is delicious if done right,” he hissed

“Is that an offer?”

“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate. Her question didn’t sound particularly friendly, and he still didn’t know what to think of the demon lord. It was hard to see her power, to see how easily she could destroy, and not know if she was biding her time to destroy him

Ezra stared at him, though it was impossible to read her. She then turned back to the now desiccated body and cooed, gently coaxing the soul out. When the moaning, twisted thing came free, she stuffed it into the globe, sealing it inside.

“Some other time then, Black Knight,” she said, not looking at him.

Not to be outplayed, Crowley responded, “Another time, Lady of the Lake.”

Ezra smirked and disappeared into the water with her prize. Crowley didn’t want to know how many bodies were down there.

* * *

_**1347 CE** _

_**Byzantine Empire** _

Crowley could always tell when he'd managed to come across Ezra because the humans whispered about a ghostly figure dressed all in black. This was particularly true at present, with humans dying of their 'Black Death' at an alarming rate. Anything that could be considered an omen was and Ezra had that unique way with spooky.

Talk of a spectral woman quickly gave way to a gentleman in town that was so very polite but made the most steadfast of individuals' skin crawl. Crowley half-heartedly searched for Ezra, but the other demon didn't stay still.

The truth was, Crowley had no idea what he was supposed to do. At least previous plagues had been God-sent; that wasn't a good thing, but it gave him a general idea of how to proceed. In this instance, there was no sign of God or Heaven. Everything seemed utterly uninfluenced by outside forces. Crowley didn't know what to do about that, so he slowly tracked Ezra through Europe. There was more than enough land to cover, but Ezra didn't seem to be moving fast or far.

The night Crowley caught up to the wraith, Ezra was sitting on a churchyard cemetery fence. He had pulled up the hood of his cloak was pulled up, hiding his hair from the light of the moon. His head was tipped back, glasses hanging from the edge of his cloak as he stared with burning eyes into the sky. He looked so bleak and lonely.

"Where do you think they are?" Ezra asked him as he approached.

"How do you always know it's me?" Crowley grumbled, putting his elbows onto the fence beside Ezra.

The question was ignored. "I've been looking around, watching. I keep expecting to see them, but there's nothing."

"I don't think this is either side's fault, spook."

"That shouldn't matter. Why isn't Heaven here to help? Why aren't they offering solace to the suffering? Any kind of comfort. Why hasn't God sent them out?"

Crowley watched the headstones dotting the ground. On nights like this, when the moon was high and the clouds skated across the sky, he enjoyed trying to convince humans ghosts were real. Next to him was the closest thing to the real deal he'd ever seen.

Ezra, the one demon who still had faith in God, was having a crisis. Crowley could lean into that, taunt him, rub salt into the wounds, but his own pain had faded, and he did like the wraith. "Have you noticed Her presence?" Crowley asked seriously, voice almost gentle. "I mean, at all? Even when Heaven makes their presence known, it doesn't feel like Her, you know?"

Ezra looked at him, Crowley's glasses a safe barrier between them. "Sometimes I think I can," he admitted, his voice soft and pained. "It's almost as if, were I to reach out far enough, I could still find Her." He looked away and pointed past the other edge of the cemetery. "That is where the mass graves are," he said. "Victims of a tragic plague that no one cares about. Hell is delighted by the desperation; and Heaven?" Ezra snorted viciously. "Heaven can't be fucked to care." He turned, hopping from the fence and stalking away, Crowley trailing silently.

"I would have done anything for Her forgiveness," Ezra snarled. "But you and I, we weren't good enough, and this is what was left behind. This is who God considers worthy of Her love? They wouldn't bless a human save by order. They don't care! I'm a demon, and were I able to use my power that way, I would be in quarantine with the ill, in the sick houses. How is this right?"

He was a bit surprised by Ezra sharing his frustrations. "So, you've finally decided to question God, then?" Crowley asked casually.

Ezra rounded on him, ready to argue, but stilled. His expression crumbled, making Crowley's chest twinge slightly. "I miss Her," he said softly, his eyes misting up. "I miss having that faith that everything will be alright with Her in control. Now, I feel untethered, drifting in a darkness that wants nothing more than to consume everything. And I'm cold, and it's isolating, and why am I telling you this?" he suddenly snarled, looking almost like a wounded animal.

Crowley understood that. One couldn't trust another demon; that was the crux of the problem. Crowley didn't even like other demons; well, any except Ezra. He always had liked Ezra. The wraith wanted so badly to be good and gentle, to help people and protect them the way he'd been made to, and he just couldn't. Instead, he was cold and precise in executing his duties, up to and including executions. And through it all, this gentle thing was still underneath, wanting to belong and wanting to love. And he shared that tender, fragile place with the serpent.

"So let's help them," Crowley said.

Ezra gave him a vicious glare. "We can't. We're demons."

"Why not? Magic is magic, right? We have demonic miracles."

The glare eased into something wary. "But humans are afraid of me."

"Because you look inhuman. So, play that up. Humans don't know black wings mean demon. Pretend to be an angel."

"Pretend to-- are you out of your mind?" Ezra asked, astonished. "Hell would be furious, and Heaven would kill me. As for the Almighty--"

"If God wants to register an opinion, then She can step up and do so. Heaven is getting the glory here so they won't care. As for Hell, that's what I'm here for."

Ezra frowned, uncertain. "What do you mean?"

"There are plenty of people in times like this willing to do just about anything to get what they want," Crowley pointed out. He shrugged. "I am the demon in this equation. They see an angel who is offering succor but can't fix the problem, and then they get to thinking that maybe there are demons who can do better. Maybe they're willing to make a deal."

Ezra seemed to consider that. "Healing someone of the illness will most likely result in them catching it again, but rarely do humans think of that. They somehow believe that making it go away means it cannot come back."

"Exactly," Crowley replied with a grin. "Not to mention the usual people who loot and cheat and steal during times like this. Souls are souls, after all. Besides, I can't think of anything eviler than a demon pretending to be an angel in these dark times. Who knows how you might lead the masses astray?"

He snorted in amusement. "No one I deal with is going to live long enough to be led anywhere." The laughter faded, and Ezra looked away, tugging at his tunic. "I really shouldn't pretend to be an angel. I wasn't good enough."

Watching Ezra put himself down was strangely uncomfortable. The lord had never been happy as a demon, but he was so confident that it was where God wanted him to be. Seeing his calm facade crack did things to Crowley that he didn't want to look at too closely.

"Thought you said this was where God wanted you to be?" he asked, trying to sound casual. "'Sides, of all the demons in Hell, if I had to put money on someone being taken back by God, it would be on you."

Ezra looked at him for one moment, his expression blank but eyes shining as if Crowley had said the most wondrous thing. Then he raised one eyebrow, looking a bit dubious and amused. "Really, my dear? You're laying it on a bit thick there, don't you think?"

Crowley winced slightly. "Yeah, it kind of got away from me there. Forget I said that." Then Ezra's words caught up with him. _My dear._ It was perhaps the friendliest and most sentimental thing Ezra had ever said to him. He blinked owlishly, his eyes fortunately protected by the glasses he was wearing.

"So," Ezra continued, still seeming unsure about their plan, "I suppose I need a wardrobe change." He gestured and changed into tawny hose and a deep blue tunic. Looking down at himself, he winced. "I stand out like a flame in the dark."

"Well, yeah. Have you ever met a subtle angel?" Crowley asked. Then he gestured to himself. "I, of course, look the part perfectly."

"Not quite," Ezra mused. He slid on his own glasses, then plucked Crowley's off of his face. "Your eyes sell it."

Crowley stole back the glasses, shoving them back on. "Maybe, but not right now. Can't just flash those things everywhere."

Together, the two of them snuck through the village, Ezra hidden in the depths of his black cloak. One would think his pale appearance made him stand out in the shadows, but he was really good at remaining unseen. He picked a house seemingly at random, then glanced at Crowley. "Are you going to come in as well?" he asked.

Crowley shook his head. "Nah. Easier to sell it if you're by yourself. But I'll watch from the window. I doubt you're going to have any trouble from humans that you'll need backup for."

Ezra nodded, then headed for the door as Crowley slinked his way to the window. He could hear murmuring, a human woman sounding rather alarmed. Of course, Ezra started with an oldie but goodie: "Be not afraid." Crowley nearly snickered.

At the window, Crowley watched. Ezra could only do so much to make himself appear angelic. Still, his face behind the glasses was gentle, the white curls adding softness rather than making him appear cold. There was tenderness in his tone, as if he was genuinely concerned by the suffering in the house. Most demons would consider it an excellent performance. Crowley knew differently.

"If you truly are an angel of the Lord," the human woman was saying, "then have you come to heal my father?"

Crowley glanced over at the human on the bed, swaddled in blankets, face wracked with pain.

"I cannot," Ezra answered sadly. "This illness is the will of the Lord, and none may understand His reasons. But I can ease your father's suffering so that his final days may not be such a torment to him."

They actually could cure the illness. In fact, their powers were part of what was going to help Crowley make so many deals. But healing the disease was no guarantee against catching it again, and Heaven would not have its angels interfere so directly. It was the right call. The woman didn't seem to appreciate that. Tears filled her eyes, and she angrily brushed them away. "You are an angel, and yet there is so little that you can do?"

"His body has been far too ravaged by the illness. You, however..." Ezra cocked his head, studying the young woman. "I can see it taking hold inside you. I can help, but if I do, you will need to leave him with me, take yourself out of the quarantine zone."

She scoffed. "This is but a trick! Why should I trust you?"

Ezra dropped his cloak, then unfolded his wings. They were sleek and black, shining in the candlelight. Most contemporary religious iconography had demons with bat-like wings, so the feathers should be reassuring to the humans.

Indeed, she gasped and sank to her knees before Ezra. "You are an angel of death?" she asked, her voice small as she tried to make sense of the obviously divine being.

Ezra did not answer the question. "Let me ease his suffering," he said softly.

She gestured him forward. Ezra moved over to where the poor man was bundled on the floor. Sweat shimmered wetly over his skin even as he shivered, his brow scrunched with pain. Ezra knelt by his side, and she helped ease her father's head onto the demon's lap. Ezra brought his hands up, pulling up power from Hell and gentling it, slipping it slowly into the human as he cupped the head resting on him. The power trickled through, though Crowley couldn't quite trace its movements from where he was. Still, even he could see the tension in the ill man's brow ease.

The daughter's lip quivered as her father took his first easy breath in days. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice tight with swelling emotion.

Ezra's wings were still out. It gave weight to the seriousness which he leveled on her. "You must do your part as well."

"I cannot leave him!"

"He would want for you to live," Ezra insisted. "If you do not take this chance now, then you may not get it again later."

"I won't leave him alone," she insisted.

Ezra's face gentled with a smile. "I will not let him be alone." He reached out, gesturing to her chest. Her eyes widened as she was able to breathe deeply. "Go," he insisted. "Leave, and survive. I will watch over your father."

She sobbed slightly, looking down at her father, but finally, she fled.

Ezra carefully made himself comfortable, using tiny little trickles of power to keep the man comfortable. The tenderness of his unguarded expression was something that didn't belong in Hell. It made Crowley’s heart ache.

"What were You thinking?" Crowley whispered to God. "Look at how much he’s suffered and still wants to help. You were missing a few marbles when You cast him out."

"Blasphemy," Ezra said, apparently able to hear him.

Crowley snorted and appeared inside. "Demon. I'll begin poking around, but this is a small village. We should move somewhere else to get the best balance worked out."

Ezra nodded slightly. "After he has passed."

Crowley glanced at the human, then back to Ezra. Perhaps it was worth it to try and trust the wraith.

* * *

Things pretty much worked out as Crowley had expected them to. They made their way into larger towns and cities, Ezra playing the gentle angel to Crowley’s deal-making demon. Ezra went to the hospitals and sick houses, working behind quarantine lines, while Crowley danced across that line time and again. Neither of them could catch the illness: ignoring the infernal part, Ezra's body temperature was too low, and Crowley was a snake. Nor were they able to pass the virus even if it did make it into their system, so evading quarantine wasn't going to make the situation worse.

Humans wept at Ezra's passing, reaching out to touch and kiss his clothing. He would not cure anyone who had symptoms, but he did remove the illness from quite a few people still in the infection's latent phase. For the others, he eased their suffering with compassion and care, his hands as gentle as any true angel.

Crowley played the other end of things. He followed in Ezra's wake, not to affect the ill, but to help convince the masses that, if angels could be around, so could demons. He spent less time with his glasses on during the plague than he had since receiving them put together. The sulfur-yellow snake eyes left plenty of desperate people seeking him out, and Crowley did exactly as promised: he made deals with the humans to cure their illness. The only thing he would accept in return was their souls. The good folk who made deals out of desperation didn't live very long after the agreement was made. The dark souls that Hell already owned, Crowley would heal in exchange for them murdering the good souls before they could beg forgiveness of the Almighty. Of course, anyone healed swiftly caught the virus again, considering he spent most of his time along the quarantine lines, and no one was allowed out.

The entire time they worked their con, both Ezra and Crowley expected Heaven or Hell to show up. Neither of them did. It was impossible to know what Heaven was thinking since they had to have heard of the 'angel' caring for the ill. Hell was a little easier to understand: Crowley was delivering a large, steady stream of souls. It was not uncommon for someone to feel that Ezra wasn't offering enough help, and they would make a deal with Crowley. It was enormously entertaining to play the 'foul demon' to Ezra's 'obedient angel.' But beyond the game, Crowley could see how much it soothed Ezra to be given a chance to be as he was made: a guardian and caretaker of humanity.

One day, probably a couple of years after they started their con, Crowley was sitting in a house with Ezra. It was just them and the child curled up on Ezra's lap, no family to chase away. Ezra smoothed the boy's sweat-slicked hair back as he trembled, listening to Crowley recount the last deal he had made.

Crowley was pretty much giggling. "He didn't look as amused when I had the prostitute stab him to death."

Ezra huffed. "It's what he deserves for being a rotten customer." He looked over at Crowley, eyes forever hidden by the dark glass. "You're getting kind of used to the whole murder thing."

Crowley shrugged. "I'm not doing it, just orchestrating it." That was what he told himself. It seemed foolish to hold back on it now, although it cut at his heart. Ezra had been formed to be a guardian, and Crowley was a creator. Murder was antithesis to his ancient purpose, but he'd been cast out. Like Ezra, he'd been made into something new, counter to his origins. He had been forced to acknowledge it, and his solution to that trauma was to let the predator out in controlled ways. He wasn't doing the killings himself, which helped to keep his sanity intact.

The door opened, startling them both as Dukes Hastur and Ligur stepped inside. They glanced around in disgust, then both sneered when they saw Ezra with the child.

"Is that what you're wasting your time doing?" Hastur growled.

"Pretending to be an angel, yes," Ezra said, quickly recovering from his surprise. "It helps sell Crowley's part. Do you need something?"

"Got an assignment for you, Ezra." Ligur waved the scroll. "There's an aristocrat you need to seduce. He likes them exotic."

Crowley had become a bit more familiar with Ezra as they had worked together on this project. As such, he had a feeling he understood better what Ezra's lack of reaction meant. The blond demon didn't hesitate. He took hold of the child's head and snapped the poor thing's neck. The dukes would love the brutality; Crowley recognized it for the mercy it was. Ezra set the boy aside, rose, and smoothed down his clothes. He took the scroll and glanced over the instructions, colors sliding back to black.

"Another time, Crowley," he said and headed out. The dukes glanced at him and left, throwing a brief, "as you were," out behind them.

Crowley glanced over at the broken child, something stupidly like grief tightening his throat. It had been a quick, clean death, but that didn't make it hurt less. The psychopomp came and went, used to the demon being near their dead. Crowley ignored them, staring blankly for a long time, cold and empty.


	12. Redux Part 2

_**1483 CE** _

_**Madrid** _

Ezra left Beelzebub's throne room and headed left for the lake. He liked to stop by there and feel the heat of the burning sulfur, though he wasn't so desperate as to crawl in. Despite how cold he was or perhaps because of it, that still really hurt.

"Well, there he is," Hastur chuckled. Ezra glanced around and found him sitting at a desk next to Ligur, having a mug of something disgusting to drink. "Lord Ezra," he sneered.

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "Is there something you need, Duke Hastur?" he responded with the same mocking tone.

"Heard Crowley got himself another commendation," Ligur said. "How many is that now?"

"And how many do you have?" Hastur added.

"Did he now?" Ezra asked mildly. “How many do you have, Hastur?"

"I'm a duke," he snapped.

"And I'm a lord, which means I know what it takes to get a title in Hell, and hard work isn't it. It also means, as Crowley's direct supervisor, that his victories are mine. So, we have seven commendations now." Ezra cocked his head. "How many do you have again? I don't believe you said."

Hastur snarled, but Ezra ignored him and headed back up to the surface. The pools would have to wait. He needed to know what was going on.

He found Crowley in Madrid. Ezra first took a look around, trying to discover the reason for the accolades. It didn't take long for him to see what the locals called the auto-da-fé, or act of faith. Ezra silently observed the rituals, remaining carefully outside of them, then watched three of the guilty be led away and burned alive. It was disgusting, and it wasn't even the trial. Torturing a confession from someone was unreliable and an excellent way to lose their souls to the opposition, which usually was fine. Hell didn't want the victims when they could have the inquisitors.

Ezra silently went back to the cantina where Crowley was drinking at the other side of town. He was tucked in a corner, a jug of wine on the table as he drank deeply from his cup. There was a flush of drunkenness on his cheeks, but his expression was brooding, body tight as a snake, warning others away.

Ezra took the seat opposite of him silently.

"I'd offer you a cup, but…" Crowley shrugged, downing the rest of his drink.

"I heard about your commendation. Are you alright?”

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You seem somewhat upset."

Crowley snorted, a bitter sound that hurt Ezra's heart. At least the serpent was being emotive. When he was impassive and still was when things were terrible. "Just another piece of vellum outlining humanity's sins." He poured himself another cup and gulped down a good mouthful.

"I know you enjoy taking credit for mankind's ideas, my dear, but this—"

"’S nothing different than anything else they've done in the past."

Ezra finally frowned. "Crowley, they are burning people alive."

The serpent merely shrugged. "Dead is dead. Burning heretics have always been popular."

"But torture—"

"Do you remember when the Persians would take a person and stuff them so full of honey and cream that they soiled themselves, then strap them into a decaying log so that the bugs would eat them alive?"

"Crowley—"

"Or when the Greeks cooked people alive in bronze bull statues?"

Ezra's voice hardened. "Crowley—"

"And let's not forget the Romans and their fondness for crosses." He paused, considering. "The rat thing really sucked for the rat."

"What is your point?" Ezra asked sharply.

"My point? My point is that humans have always tortured and always will. Some of the Pit's greatest hits were invented by the very people they're used on. Why should the good Catholic Queen be any different?"

"But you don't need it attributed to you," Ezra pointed out. "Humanity is what it is, but why should you not be unhappy when someone thinks that you came up with such horrid things?"

"Why not? I'm a demon."

Ezra frowned, glancing around. "I'd keep your voice down, dear, before someone decides to report you to the Inquisition."

Crowley lowered his glasses, showing his fully serpentine eyes. "Let them try." Pushing them back up, he grabbed the jug and walked away, swaying a bit more than usual.

Undeterred, Ezra followed. He could see how much it hurt Crowley, even if the other demon wouldn’t admit to it. "You can be upset," he insisted softly.

"Yeah?" Crowley stopped, staring hard at the wraith. "Like you were upset using sex to tempt that Merlin prick?"

Ezra stiffened, feeling suddenly cold. "We didn’t have sex. My orders were—"

"Did the orders say to fuck him?"

"Crowley!"

"I didn't think so.”

“I didn’t--”

“It's just a job, spook—part and parcel of being a demon. We hurt humans, make their endings awful, and when they die to escape, we torture their souls for eternity. It's what we are." He straightened, eyes hard on Ezra's pale face. "Now, if you excuse me, maybe I'll check out the witch hunts ramping up in Britain." Crowley stalked away. Ezra wrapped his arms around himself, feeling a bit more cold and alone.

* * *

_**1793 CE** _

_**Paris** _

Crowley leaned lazily against the brick wall, watching from the back of the crowd. Soldiers led a woman through, her white dress simple and hair shorn close. It would have been the perfect autumn day if not for the scent of blood on the air and the crowd taunting the former queen. It made Crowley's lips peel back to bare fangs.

He supposed he should not have been surprised with the way things had turned out. A few years back, he'd spent some time wandering France, making a temptation here or there. However, the winter had turned hard and cruel, and though Crowley was warm-blooded, it had been so bitterly cold that it made his body hurt. He'd huddled in the warmest place he could find: the palace at Versailles. The things he'd witnessed that winter would not have been out of place in the courts of the Archdukes of Lust or Gluttony. Gambling, excess in food and drink, clandestine meetings of all sorts, and not one whisper of concern for the freezing, starving citizens.

It was a result of the times, a flippancy and inability to relate to the common folks’ needs. The nobility had no means to understand the suffering of their people, and many did not care. Those who did, like the former queen, couldn't truly comprehend, even as they played at being milkmaids in the safety of the palace grounds. Crowley had tried once or twice but quickly gave up and watched, a passive observer as the country fell apart while the nobility drank it away.

Crowley liked Marie Antoinette. She never really had a chance, introduced into this world as she was, not knowing better than the frivolity of palace life. She certainly wasn't innocent, but she cared. For it all, she now stood before the guillotine, pale but composed. She did not resist as they strapped her into the machine, her face calm with the inevitability of her demise, then her head was gone, and the blood gushed like a fountain.

Crowley nearly gagged and looked away from the swift, immediate horror. They said the guillotine was humane, but nothing about the revolution could fall under that description, the cruelest of human nature happily on display. He had liked Marie, yes, and she had done the best she could, but revolution being what it was, the results did not surprise him. The guillotine was still light-years better than the barbarity of earlier executions. What hurt his heart and left him with a brick wall supporting his weak knees was the fate of Marie's children. Only two remained, and they were both locked in a tower, the eldest daughter and the former Dauphin. They were royalty, and people would rally behind them given a chance, which was why they were imprisoned. But they were also children, too young to suffer and too fragile not to be preyed upon.

Up at the front, the mob danced in the spray of the queen's blood. Her head was piked and thrust above the crowd, the citizens roaring their approval. Crowley had seen enough. He once again was getting a commendation for something he'd had no part of, but he didn't need to stick around and see the denouement of this tragedy. He slithered through the crowd and out of the square, going in the opposite direction of the grotesque prize.

Crowley walked the edge of the river, ignoring the citizens who passed by chattering excitedly, some drenched in blood. To his surprise, he saw Ezra standing at the edge of the river, staring intently into the water. He considered turning away, but Ezra could offer a distraction for a relatively shitty day.

"Why are you here, spook? Don't you have a bookshop to prepare?"

Ezra looked up, watching Crowley as he approached. "I heard about the revolution," he replied, turning back to the water. "I thought I would investigate, in case Below has any questions." Ezra glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "I don't suppose you had anything to do with all of this?"

Crowley shook his head, leaning against the barrier to the river. "No. I've watched it all, but I didn't do it. That bad winter a few years back? I spent it at the palace at Versailles." He peered at the pale demon. "Remember Caligula's banquet? With the solid gold loaves of bread and such?" When Ezra nodded silently, Crowley snorted. "That was nothing. The people are exaggerating the excess of the nobility, but not by much."

"So then they really did bring this on themselves."

Crowley shifted restlessly, turning to lean his back against the barrier. "They had no idea, spook. Truthfully, most wouldn't have known what to do if they did, and many wouldn't have cared in the slightest. The number of nobles who would have sacrificed to do anything was pathetically small. They knew the people were suffering, but they couldn't grasp how little they had."

Ezra's head came up sharply to watch a pair walk by, laughing gaily and drenched in blood. "Rarely does knowing make a difference in these sorts of things,” he said, distracted by the humans. “By the end of that winter, their fates were most likely sealed."

"It's the kids," Crowley admitted, watching Ezra with interest. He then sighed, looking away. "The royal family was locked in the tower of the Square du Temple, and the kids are still there. Rumor has it that they have guardians, but the vile things people say about Louis’ guardian… Ezra, he's only eight years old."

Ezra turned away from the pair, breathing slowly as he stared off. "Royalty is such a strange thing, the way that it warps thinking, like the concept of Divine Right. It would surprise me if the Almighty truly cares about every sovereign throughout history, but they always think they are God's chosen." As he talked, his eyes drifted back toward the milling people. He breathed deeply through his nose. "Royals become symbols of might, and so must be ripped down and shredded much like a flag. The sad truth is, even if the prince were freed, his saviors would also treat him as an object, just with the reverence befitting his station." Ezra finally looked at Crowley. "If it would make you feel better, we could go check on them. I'm sure the princess is fine, but the prince, or well, king."

Crowley considered it, studying Ezra. "Better not. I might send Down a few souls early if I did."

Ezra flashed him a sharp-toothed grin. "But they would deserve it."

"They would be replaced with someone equally bad." The serpent crossed his arms, facing Ezra. "New topic. You're aware, of course, that you're watching the locals like a lion eyeballing a sheep?"

Ezra stiffened a bit. "Hardly."

"Nope. You are. Hungry?"

The glare burned even behind the dark glasses. "Don't tease me, Crowley. Not about that."

"I'm serious," he insisted. One hand waved lazily over the masses milling about. "There are numerous ways one can feed, as we have learned from the Ashmedai, and one of them is off of blood. There is certainly plenty of that here."

"I will not take part in such horrific disregard to human life. I want nothing to do with the cruelty enacted here."

Crowley could sense his tension. Much of it came from being angry, he was sure, but the way the wraith demon watched the humans burned with hunger. "Spook, you're making me want to hide, and I'm also a predator. If not the blood, then how about food? It's not decadent or plentiful, but it's something."

"I don't eat, Crowley," Ezra replied stiffly. He was practically gritting his teeth.

"Then why are you here? You are supposed to be building your bookshop. Hell liked the idea of the base I came up with, and there aren't any grimoires here for the basement; I checked." Crowley had come up with the bookshop idea to let Ezra carefully indulge in his lust for books. They pitched it to Hell as a base of operations, and part of what made it so desirous to them was the basement. To make up for Ezra’s lack of fieldwork, the cellar would contain magical grimoires of the demonic kind that wizards and witches and such might come searching for. It was a simple way to gain more souls, tempting with knowledge.

"I thought I would come to check on you."

Crowley snorted. "Ezra, you lie better than that."

"I could practically taste the blood in London," Ezra finally pouted, relenting. "I don't want to lick at it like some horrible degenerate."

"You're starving," Crowley replied gently. "You have been for millennia. It's no wonder it's beginning to interfere."

"It's not interfering," Ezra replied, his tone becoming increasingly hard. As another bloodied pair of humans walked by, his attention snapped to them, but immediately back to Crowley.

The serpent sighed, then grabbed Ezra's sleeve. "Come along, spook."

"I think I should like to return to London."

"Don't be like that. Come back to mine, alright?" He tugged again but didn't try to force Ezra.

The blond hesitated, his attention flicking about. After a moment, he sighed, his shoulders sagging. Mentally, Crowley did a little dance and wrapped an arm around said shoulders, guiding him back to the townhouse he'd commandeered. Once he got Ezra inside, he stripped off his coat, mind racing as he considered how he wanted to proceed. He deftly plucked Ezra's glasses off, then removed his own as he walked away, ignoring the other demon's hiss. "Want a drink? The previous residents left quite the selection."

"You know very well that I don't eat or drink, Crowley," Ezra replied sourly.

Crowley slid a letter opener from a drawer, a slender thing with a shell handle and a shining blade. A thought made the thin metal sturdy and razor-sharp. "Why is that again? You're missing out." He gestured to the room, letting Ezra choose between the armchairs or settee.

Ezra cautiously moved through the room, his eyes flicking to the blade. "I seem to recall you telling me after Emperor Caligula's banquet that I should never eat."

Crowley settled across from him as he sat on one of the chairs. "Because you moan like a harlot. I meant not to eat in front of other people."

Ezra was pale enough that, unless he'd fed recently, he didn't flush. It was rather annoying trying to tell if he'd been affected by something Crowley had said when he had his glasses on. Without them, it was easier to see if he was flustered, to observe the flicking of his eyes and the swell of his pupils. "I do not," he protested.

"You do. But you didn't answer my question: why don't you eat?"

Ezra watched as Crowley purposefully turned the dagger in his hand, fingers playing over the sharp point. "Lucifer used to feed us fruits in Eden. It makes me feel sick to think about it."

"So you blame us for your Fall." It didn't surprise him. Crowley had always known it was his fault.

"I didn't say that," Ezra snapped, looking up at Crowley's face.

"It's alright, spook. I would blame me, too. I do."

"I don't," he replied firmly. "You did nothing wrong."

Crowley's snort cut off whatever Ezra's next words were. "Obviously not, as I'm a demon."

Ezra's expression softened slightly. "I liked our conversations very much."

"Let's face it, spook: you would never have Fallen if I hadn't put those questions in your mind."

"You don't know that. And even if it was true, you're suggesting that I might have been better off if I'd not met you. I disagree."

"You would not have Fallen--"

"Lucifer contrived to have me question God. You were a tool, not the instrument of my downfall."

Crowley shook his head. "You would never have questioned," he insisted

Ezra leaned forward and reached out, grasping the hand at the tip of the blade and stilling it. "There is no one to blame," he said softly, "except me. My actions led to my Fall, not yours; my thoughts, not your questions. Only my actions could damn me. Please, Crowley. I don't like hearing you say such things."

"Then why don't you take care of yourself?" Crowley asked like he caught Ezra in a lie. "Why not eat food, or feed yourself?"

Ezra stilled, his lips twitching down. He pulled his hands back to flutter his fingers over his waistcoat, glancing away. "When Her presence left me,” he started hesitantly, not looking at the ginger, “what remained was a gaping wound that hungered for something to fill it. I believe it to be part of my punishment, and I worry that seeking to fulfill that emptiness would never leave it satisfied, would cause me to hunt for more, crave more until I lost myself in it. I made a choice not to let that happen."

Crowley's fingers stopped moving over the blade as he considered that. It made sense, as it was impossible to fill the ache that the Almighty's absence left behind in them all. Crowley experienced it as well, but not the same way Ezra did. "You need to feed to be healthy, Ezra, not to fill the emptiness. Nothing can do that."

Interestingly, Ezra's fingers stilled a moment, as if a thought had crossed his mind. The sharp tugging on the waistcoat meant he'd dismissed it. "What?" Crowley asked, curious.

Ezra's hands stilled again, then smoothed over his thighs. "I've often thought about it," he replied softly, "my crimes against God. I have thought that I might do anything, give up anything to return to Her good graces. But…" He hesitated for a moment, eyes flicking to Crowley. He could practically see the resolve harden. "But it's a lie. Despite everything we've gone through, everything that has happened…" He paused again as if he didn't know quite what to say.

"Just spit it out, Ezra," Crowley said, his voice also soft.

"I don't think I could give up having known you," the pale demon replied, staring off. "I value you and our conversations. I'm afraid to wish I had never become a demon, in case I would never have known you."

Crowley stared at him, heart needlessly hammering in his chest. It was everything that he had ever thought himself and never dared to admit, the guilt of making such a devoted angel Fall too great. Despite his ill feelings, he coveted Ezra's presence, twisting himself into knots over the thought of the spook being his lord. That Ezra felt the same way had his thumb pressing into the tip of the blade, easily parting the flesh to spill blood.

Ezra's nostrils flared, and his head snapped to Crowley's hands. He frowned in dismay. "Crowley--"

Eyes swallowed up in sulfur yellow, Crowley raised his hand and stroked his bleeding thumb over colorless lips. Ezra froze, his eyes widening, pupils swelling. His heartbeat fluttered in his throat, muscles locked still as a statue as he fought with himself over what to do. Crowley rose and slinked forward the step needed, then put his hands on the arms of the chair and leaned in, capturing Ezra's lips in a kiss.

A whine pulled itself from Ezra's throat, his body trembling between Crowley's arms. The serpent dipped his tongue into the cool mouth, and suddenly he was across the room, falling into the wall. Ezra was there to hold him up, his mouth crushing Crowley's. Hands slid into his dark red hair, holding him firmly in place while Ezra licked every hint of blood off of his tongue.

Crowley groaned, pressing his body carefully against Ezra's powerful one. He knew of the other demon's trauma and fears and knew Ezra was likely to panic if there was too much sex, but the wild predator pressed against him was driving him crazy.

Ezra pulled back, his irises thin bands of fire around his pupils. His eyes focused for a moment on Crowley's throat, making the serpent's belly do a strange flip of excitement and concern. Then Ezra snarled and pulled Crowley from the wall, flipping him around and slamming him back into it. He pulled at the black shirt, ripping the neckline to bare one shoulder. There, he stilled, trembling as he pressed his forehead into the freckled flesh, just breathing against him.

"Alright, there?" Crowley asked, absolutely flustered by all of the manhandling. He'd thought that Ezra was as excited as he, if not more so, and was torn due to his fears. He turned his head slightly to taste the air and enjoy Ezra's arousal. That was there, but Crowley was startled to smell hot, bitter rage. "Ezra?" he started, moving to turn around.

Ezra forced him against the wall, pinning him in place. The letter opener was in his hand, and, despite his trembling elsewhere, he was steady as he dragged the blade over Crowley's shoulder down toward the scapula. It was just deep enough for the blood to well quickly, and he eagerly leaned in to lick it clean. It certainly smarted and would have been more thrilling if Ezra hadn't smelled ready to rip Crowley to pieces. Crowley refused to flinch, keeping his fingers hands pressed to the stone wall and letting Ezra feed. He could feel the slips and pieces of energy lapped up along with his blood, nothing quite big enough to be dangerous, but it could quickly build up to be so.

When Ezra was no longer satisfied with the wound, he made a new one beside it and continued. Crowley remained silent, letting him take what was offered. It was painful and not really Crowley’s thing, but it was also kind of titillating. Listening to the wet sound of Ezra’s tongue, the soft sighs the wraith made; it was strange how Crowley was almost overwhelmed, and they weren't even doing anything.

All in all, he made five precise slices over the slender shoulder. When he was finally satisfied, he released Crowley. Before the serpent could move, a hand settled between his shoulder blades. Fire poured through Crowley's body, burning painfully and searing into the wounds. He groaned in pain and twisted as if a spine was a mere suggestion, ending up on the floor. He hissed up at Ezra petulantly, but the other demon still seemed angry.

"What's your problem?" Crowley asked, trying not to appear too sulky. Ezra had not needed to make the healing hurt that much.

"My problem?" Ezra asked, obviously trying to reign in his anger. "I said no, Crowley. I said it multiple times, and you did that anyway." He seemed to bite back more, the unvoiced words vibrating in the air between them, comparing Crowley to Asmodeus.

Crowley flinched slightly. "Ezra, you were going to hurt someone--"

"That someone was nearly you. I almost ripped your throat out. More importantly, I know how to handle this. I've been doing so for millennia before you were around. It is my problem, not yours, and none of your business."

"But you--"

"No," Ezra snarled, his rage spilling over and shutting Crowley up. "Not your business."

It hurt. It hurt worse than the healing, and it left him on the defensive, baring his fangs at the blond. "So you can just show up and start poking around in my life as you did in Madrid, but I can't do the same to you? I kind of thought…" Then he bit down on the comment, refusing the vulnerability of giving voice to it.

"You were injuring yourself. I'm not. I know how to handle this--"

"I definitely know how to drink."

"Is that what this is about?" Ezra snarled. "I checked on you, encouraged you not to drink yourself into a stupor, and you need vengeance?"

"Don't make it sound petty," he snapped.

"It is petty, Crowley. That is the only way I can see it right now, so unless you're going to bare that thought you cut off, I can't see how this was anything but a power play."

"Power play? I thought we had agreed to be each other's business."

"I don't tell my motives to just anyone, Crowley. If you didn't matter, then I wouldn't have explained myself."

Crowley was both pissed and upset, but not at Ezra. The blond had a point. "What was so blessed bad about what just happened that you had to make that healing hurt like that? Fine, you're angry; my mistake. What was that?"

Ezra looked away and simply shook his head, heading for the door.

Crowley didn't think. He just suddenly had Ezra in his coils, away from the door, filling the room with the hiss of black and red scales. Ezra's eyes burned as was gently contained, the smell of fire on the air. It made the enormous snake pause, remembering his survival instincts once again as the cold predator's mind crept in.

Crowley paused and turned his head to meet Ezra’s eyes. The cold predator had quickly blanketed his mind, moving in over his frustration. The two demons considered each other for a long moment, but then the serpent loosened his coils. This was no way to treat a potential mate, the snake told him. "Apologies," he hissed softly, relaxing until he was merely containing Ezra rather than holding him. "I forgot myself. I merely wanted to stop you from leaving so that I can understand."

Ezra looked away, staring off into the middle distance. He looked like he was considering his options. Then he slid around the snake's coils to the door.

"Ezra…" Crowley said softly, sinking into the loops of his body, disappointment tingling down his spine. Had he ruined everything again?

The blond paused at the door, turning his glasses in his hand. "I suppose… I had hoped that if we…" He took a deep breath but then continued. "That if we'd ever kissed, it might have been more meaningful than that, is all." He slid on his glasses and left.

Crowley probably should have changed back from his serpent form. However, unlike his other form, he could wallow in his misery without the vulnerability of tears.


	13. Save Me

_**1941** _

_**London** _

Ezra calmly stared at the gun in his face, considering his next move. The British Intelligence officer was on the side of the Nazis, and no backup was coming. Before he could decide how to proceed, the church doors were thrown open, and someone entered with a hiss, a sound he would have known anywhere. Sure enough, Crowley gracelessly moved down the center aisle, practically dancing in pain.

Rose Montgomery was the first to speak, purring a bit in appreciation. "Well, if it isn't the infamous Mr. Anthony J. Crowley.”

_Jay?_ Ezra wondered, arching an eyebrow at the serpent. He'd already heard ‘Anthony’ when Crowley picked it, but the middle initial was new. “Mr. Crowley, now? I thought you were in France.”

Crowley’s expression was withering. "Not now, spook." He turned to the humans, practically pulling on his secret agent persona. "In two minutes, the bombs are going to drop over this church--"

"You changed the bombing targets?" Ezra interrupted, startled and a touch annoyed. "Do you know how much trouble I go through to get those schedules?"

“I’m busy, Ezra,” Crowley replied through clenched teeth.

By that point, the three humans seemed somewhat confused, glancing at each other. "Kill them," their ringleader said dismissively, turning back to the books. "They are very irritating."

"First of all," Crowley continued the argument, ignoring the humans, "I'm not the one the Nazis duped. Second,” he turned to the rest, “you are all wasting valuable running away time."

But Ezra could already hear the planes moving into position overhead. "Too late," he murmured, readying himself. It would take a bit of power to save the two of them, something Ezra had more readily available as a demon lord. The humans raised their faces, surprised, and the bomb dropped. The church's destruction would have been somewhat entertaining had Ezra not already become numb to seeing the devastation these weapons wrought.

He glanced over at Crowley. "Dramatic as always, my dear."

"You're just cranky because I saved you." Crowley stepped forward and pulled the case of books from one of the bodies, looking a touch smug. "Lift home?"

"Yes, thank you," Ezra accepted, following him and watching as Crowley picked over the ruin delicately due to his wounded feet.

They drove through London, both demons silent on the way to the bookshop. Once they were inside, Ezra put the case down on his desk and started digging for a bowl.

"Sit on the sofa and off with your socks and shoes, if you please. Let's see how badly you've burned yourself."

"It's nothing, spook," Crowley replied with a shrug, still trying to act cool.

Ezra glanced at him, unamused. "By 'please,' I mean 'now.'"

Crowley frowned as Ezra filled the bowl with water, watching the other demon bustled about. He looked puzzled, some of his pride deflating. "Wait. You're not limping. Why are you not limping?"

"Doubled socks," Ezra replied absently, kneeling before the sofa, "plus I put a thin sheet of steel just above the soles in the shoes. They are rather uncomfortable, but there was no burning." He looked up at the other demon. "Sit, Crowley. Come along now."

Crowley finally did as told and watched as Ezra removed his shoes and socks. "You haven't checked on your books. Aren't you worried they might be damaged?"

Ezra studied the peeling and blistered scales of Crowley's feet and hummed, displeased at the damage. He wet a cloth and carefully tended the wounds. "They're fake," he answered, still distracted.

He didn’t notice as, in front of him, Crowley stiffened. "They're what?"

The wraith glanced up but turned back to what he was doing. "It took a little magic, but just a bit. You do recall I can repair books, yes?"

"Repair, Ezra, not--"

"The work is the same. I didn't want Officer Montgomery and her associates to damage my books."

"Or, you know, giving them to the Fuhrer."

"Oh, I had no intention of letting them leave with my property."

Crowley threw down his fedora. "You knew?" he hissed, jerking his feet away.

Ezra huffed and looked up at him. "That Officer Montgomery was a double agent? Of course."

"Then why did you agree to trade the books?"

"Well, you've been off playing secret agent; I suppose I was bored. In my defense, they did contact me first."

Crowley slithered to standing, heedless of the wounds on his feet. "You intended to kill them. You knew it was a setup. You didn't need rescuing," he growled, storming about.

Ezra stood slowly, setting the towel aside as he frowned. "No, I did not."

Crowley paced in agitation, his eyes fully serpentine as he glared bitterly. "I bet you thought I was hilarious."

“Truthfully, I haven't decided what to think."

The serpent stilled, eyes narrowing. "You're very honest tonight."

"Indeed." Ezra cocked his head, studying Crowley. A part of him adored that Crowley wanted to make a dashing rescue. That he was so put out at failing was also somewhat entertaining. "I realize you thought I didn’t know, which makes me question how stupid you believe me to be."

"You're not dumb," Crowley argued immediately.

"Then you walked on holy ground without protection, leaving me to contemplate your level of intelligence."

He winced. "A bit too honest there, spook."

Here, Ezra frowned. He looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers together. "You walked over holy ground to protect me," he said softly, trying to understand how that made him feel. "And I find that I'm somewhat sore that you risked yourself so foolishly. Yet, I also…" He struggled to find the words he wanted. "I'm… flattered?"

"Flattered?" Crowley asked tentatively, stilling his pacing.

"As you know, I am rather fond of you, and that's why I'm extremely displeased." Ezra's eyes blazed as he looked at Crowley. "It was foolish to risk your existence so without considering my position on the incident. You could have completely ruined my plan if I'd had one. I should punish you by making you walk on your charred feet."

Crowley watched him with wide eyes as Ezra laid into him. After a moment, he spoke, mouth twisting as if the words were strange on his tongue. "I'm fond of you too."

Ezra's eyes widened behind his glasses, his useless heart suddenly pounding even as his throat tightened. He no longer understood what he was feeling. It scared him because two demons should not feel affection for each other. And yet, not only was he fond of Crowley, but he trusted him. Ezra would bare to Crowley his back, his neck, his wings. Furthermore, if he was wrong and Crowley betrayed his trust, Ezra didn't know if it was within him to regret it.

He moved forward, his hands fluttering over the sharp black suit. Crowley's feet were injured, and Ezra would heal them up, but the snake demon was okay. He could be relieved of the awe and terror of seeing him on holy ground.

Long hands reached up and cupped Ezra's face. He looked up at the ginger. “Think we can try that kiss again?” Crowley murmured.

Ezra swallowed and nodded slightly, tugging at the lapels of the black blazer. He looked up as Crowley leaned in and kissed him gently. He felt like glass in that hold, ready to shatter in one wrong move. It was also intensely beautiful, something he hadn’t felt in a long time

He couldn't stand it. It was too much. He had to bring it down to something base that they could tolerate.

He deepened the kiss, made it filthier, running his tongue over Crowley’s. It thrilled him when Crowley teased back, sucking on his tongue before releasing him.

“I’m sorry about Paris,” the serpent said, running his nose over Ezra’s jaw. “I was worried someone might use your starvation to take advantage of you.”

Ezra sighed, pressing his forehead to Crowley’s shoulder. “Even if they had, I would have survived it.”

“I don’t want you just to survive it,” he nearly hissed. “I want to stop it.”

Ezra didn’t reply. They both know that was likely impossible. Finally, he said softly, "I have suffered this way for almost six thousand years. I can control myself around more blood than twelve Revolutions. I don't need you to sacrifice pieces of yourself to feed me just to hang it over my head later, or worse, have someone else hang it."

Crowley frowned, pushing him back so that he could study Ezra’s face. "Why do you think I would do that?"

“Uh, demon?” Ezra said, confused. “We don’t always have the choice.”

“Which is why taking the chance while we can is so important.”

He didn’t understand. “The chance?”

Crowley paused. "Maybe I want to be with you, feed you, do those things with you. Why is that so strange?"

Ezra's eyes widened behind his glasses, a thread of fear shooting down his spine. More than that, a hot need coiled in his belly. He took a step back just to stop himself from rubbing against Crowley. "What?" he stammered, unsure if he understood correctly.

The other demon observed him, his eyes wholly serpentine, then flicked his tongue out. He must have liked what he tasted because he leaned into Ezra’s neck with a hum.

Ezra stumbled back and nearly tripped over his own feet. His brain immediately supplied images of Crowley wrapped around him, black scales delicious against his very white skin. He wasn't sure he could stop himself from being possessive of the snake demon. The sheer want was glorious, but it left him shaking, unsure if he could participate without panicking.

Crowley's eyes were intently tracking him like he was prey. "Maybe I want you to consume me," he purred. He was cautious, an acknowledgment of Ezra's ability to destroy him. "Let me help you. Let me show you how good it is."

It wasn't like Ezra hadn't orgasmed under Asmodeus' command. It had been pleasure-as-torture. This, however, would be because he wants it, and he needs it from Crowley. He couldn't express that, though. He hadn't the words, didn't want to think of Hell just then and what had been done to him. Crowley took another small step, his tongue flicking out again, so close to Ezra's throat, and his pupils widened slightly.

"Please?" Crowley whispered almost against Ezra's cheekbone, still not touching him. He sounded nearly as desperate as the paler demon felt.

Ezra wasn't equipped for sex. That didn't make his need any less. He just didn't know what to do. He leaned in, tentatively licking Crowley's neck and changing her form. Asmodeus had taken her in many forms, but Satan always wanted her like this. She figured Crowley would as well.

Crowley ran a hand down her ribs. "You prefer this form?"

Ezra glanced up at him. "You don't?"

"I'm pretty flexible anyway. I just always got the impression you preferred to appear male."

Ezra was a bit confused. "You don't want me to have the receptive one?"

"You can have that and still prefer a male appearance. Or you can have a cock with either form." He nuzzled her hair. "What do you want?"

Ezra blinked. She hadn't been given an option before. She'd either been told what to have or forced into the form desired. The novelty of choosing her appearance delighted her, but she couldn't shake her lingering fear. Her female form was a murderer, far more comfortable with protecting herself.

Crowley was watching her, something strange in his expression. "Are you feeling defensive? I know you are more of a killer in this form. Do you need proof that I don't want to hurt you?"

"You'd hurt me if you're ordered to," Ezra said automatically.

There had been many things Crowley had done because he'd been ordered, mostly for his own protection. The demon had gained a strange confidence after he'd been forced to cull souls. Ezra suspected it was because he knew he could and would defend himself. However, the reminders haunted him at times such as this.

"Would it help to let you mesmerize me?" Crowley asked.

Ezra jerked back, nearly tripping in surprise and horror. Enthrallment before sex seemed too much like rape. "What? I'm not so sure that--"

But Crowley snagged her glasses off of her face and tossed them aside, already looking into her blue-fire eyes. Ezra felt the power reach out for him, to swallow him in its grasp, unable to stop it, but then it simply slid off. She stared at him, jaw hanging in shock, her mind going blank and still. She had struggled against the powerful Council members, the enthrallment clawing to pull them under, but it had never failed to sink tendrils in at all.

Crowley's confidence wavered slightly. "How long is this supposed to take?"

"How are you doing that?" Ezra blurted out, panic starting to tighten her throat.

"Do what?"

"How are you blocking me?" It wasn't the same as Beelzebub, who was snared by a few sharp tendrils but fought the power off. There was simply nothing to grasp, her power sliding away like oil over water.

Crowley blinked at her, looking blank. "I'm… I’m not doing anything."

Ezra raised a hand, balefire erupting in her grasp. This had been Crowley's idea, all of it. Had this all been a ploy? She'd thought maybe he'd be safe, eventually, but perhaps he was a trojan horse, a trick like everything else.

Crowley jerked back at the appearance of the balefire, stumbling over his own feet before he fell into a heap of limbs on the floor. The long, venomous fangs displayed defensively as he hissed, one hand up to block her.

Panic was high in Ezra's throat, but something also felt wrong. Crowley's expression wasn't angry at being thwarted. Instead, it was open, his eyes bright with confusion and fear. She didn't know how Crowley was blocking her, but he didn't seem aware of her power, except for the balefire. Could it be that he was an exception? Could God have made it so that Crowley was immune to her power?

She didn't know. What she did know was that she had been whining about trust, then turned around and attacked the one person she wanted to trust more than anything, maybe more than God. Ezra whimpered softly as the balefire winked out, then she fled.

A flat was attached to the bookshop, a tiny space that Ezra let Crowley commandeer when he liked, but there was little in such an area that Ezra needed. However, she did have a hidden room where she had tucked away a bed. It gave her a secret place to hide when she needed solitude from the world for a while. Even Crowley didn't know about it. She hid there now, horrified by what she had done. He immediately changed, hoping to temper the need to be violent in his frustration, enraged over his stupid mistake. A glass globe with a small stick inside was ignited with blue fire so that he could see, and Ezra sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands, grieving that which he'd destroyed. He was a demon; why had he thought he could have such a thing as a trusting relationship?

He spent what felt like a long time kicking himself, letting his thoughts spiral down darker and darker. Then the door swung open. Ezra meeped and scrambled back into the corner, eyes wide as he saw Crowley standing in the doorway.

Crowley paused at his reaction, then glanced almost nervously at the blue flame in the globe. “Can you use regular fire or something?"

Ezra looked over, and the color immediately warmed to a normal flame. Then he studied Crowley, who didn’t seem sure he wanted to enter the room. Perhaps he had indeed ruined things.

The two stared at each other before Crowley finally cleared his throat. “Is there anybody else who has been immune to your gaze?”

Ezra shook his head, but then he paused. “Well, not exactly. The power reaches out, you see, quite beyond my control. The only being I’ve ever met eyes with, and it had not reached for, was Satan. It even clawed at Beelzebub. You, however…” he paused, considering his words, “It was like trying to mix oil and water. The power reached as it always does but slid right off of you. It couldn’t get a single tendril in.”

“That’s never happened before?”

Again, Ezra shook his head.

Crowley leaned against the doorframe, absently running his tongue over a fang and looking a bit nervous. “So… so what does that mean?”

The wraith blinked at him. “I haven’t the foggiest. I did mention this has never happened before, yes?”

“No need for sarcasm,” Crowley muttered.

“Strange. That’s usually your first response to everything.” Ezra was slowly getting the feeling that Crowley was no longer sure he wanted Ezra, and he didn’t understand why. “Why is this a problem? Should this not be good news?”

“Shouldn’t it?” he countered. “You’re the one that ran.”

“Alright.” Ezra rose and stepped toward Crowley and the serpent immediately tensed. The wraith paused, his eyes narrowing. “I wasn’t aware you had a danger kink, Crowley.”

Crowley scowled, pushing away from the door frame and moving into the aisles to pace. “It’s not that,” he grumbled, his still-injured feet oozing on Ezra’s floors. “Why am I the only one immune?”

Ezra made a face and snapped his fingers, healing Crowley’s feet the easy way and cleaning up in the process. “As I said, I haven’t the foggiest.”

“But who could make that happen? The Almighty? Why would She do that?”

“I don’t know, Crowley. Why must this be some big mystery?”

“Why isn’t this bothering you?” Crowley snapped, stopping to glare at him.

Exhausted, Ezra merely shrugged. “I have already decided to trust you. This merely makes that all the more necessary.”

The serpent looked like he’d been pole-axed between the eyes. “You trust me?” he nearly squeaked.

“Of course,” he replied in frustration.

“But if you were ordered-“

“I don’t know that I could,” Ezra replied, sagging against the doorframe. He looked away from Crowley, eyes drifting over the floor. He had no idea how everything had gone so topsy-turvy, but it was clear being an exception was making the other demon nervous. Ezra didn’t understand why, and just then, he didn’t want to. He felt foolish and tired and just wanted to put the whole thing behind him. “So, if that’s all, I think I’d like to go to bed now.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned back into his small, safe room.

He felt Crowley follow him, staying tucked into the doorway. “Look, I’ve gotta think about this,” he said, sounding unsure. “It’s a lot to take in. But…” The words drifted into silence as he tried to decide what to say. “The feeding offer is still on the table.”

Ezra looked up at him, sagging a bit. “What?” he asked, borderline ready to throw Crowley out.

Crowley shrugged a bit. “I still want you to be healthy, and I still think you should feed. I’m not taking that back.”

“You do understand that even consuming your blood is rather intimate to me?” Ezra asked him.

His lips quirked almost sadly. “Then we’ll be starting slowly.”

Ezra didn’t have it within him to argue. More than that, now that Crowley was the one backing away, he found that he pined for the withdrawn intimacy even more. He hadn’t known he’d wanted it, but suddenly, it hurt so much to have Crowley pull away. Pathetically, he instead felt he wanted to take what he could get. “Alright.”

Crowley seemed much more comfortable on familiar ground. He reached into an inner-breast pocket of his blazer and pulled the letter opener from Paris free. “What do you like? Wings or thighs?”

Ezra nearly collapsed onto the bed in a bundle of feathers. The comment felt so inappropriate that it almost circled to appropriate again. He took the blade away. “Your wrist. I’ve no desire to choke on feathers.”

Crowley snorted. “You’ve at least been around people eating chicken, right?” he asked as he unclipped his cuff and pushed it up.

“You are not poultry, my dear.” Ezra studied the pale wrist carefully, then drew the blade delicately over his forearm about an inch down from where the skin was thinnest. This flowed well but didn’t spray them with blood. He lapped at the wound, slowly perfecting the blood ratio needed for proper feeding since it was merely a substitute for what truly satisfied him.

Crowley was silent for most of it but finally said, “I still think Stoker got it from you.”

Ezra nearly choked, coming up off of his wrist and favoring Crowley with a glare. He pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his mouth, then pressed it to the wound to staunch its now meager flow. “I am not a vampire.”

“Of course not. Just saying ol’ Bram had a template. He also had quite the thing for you if the Count’s interactions with Jonathan were anything to go by.”

“You don’t read books,” Ezra pointed out, actually feeling sated and sleepy. “How should you know?”

“I made an exception.” Crowley pulled away, healing his arm and easing the almost drowsing wraith back onto the bed. “Argue later, Ezra. Go to sleep.”

Ezra mumbled something but almost immediately slipped away.


End file.
